


Judging You Softly

by Vizhi0n



Series: Judging You Softly [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, I blame Kijilinn for this, My Black Ass is me, Other, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:57:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizhi0n/pseuds/Vizhi0n
Summary: I lightly brushed my finger against the spoon, licking away the sauce and holy shit what was I doing? Negan was staring at me, his eyebrows raised.“That was not meant to be sexual,” I blurted out. “I just really like spaghetti. I’d deepthroat that entire spoon if I didn’t care about herpes or whatever.”





	1. Chapter 1

My mother always wanted me to teach children. High School, to be more specific, since I’d been pursuing a career in literature. I’d always vehemently disagreed with her because I knew I didn’t have the patience to deal with young adults. And thats still the case, even today.

It was the reason I’d eagerly volunteered to be Judith’s babysitter. I was far more comfortable around her than even Rick himself. Hell, I was more comfortable around Judith than, well, anyone. Not to say I didn’t enjoy the company of the people like Olivia or Aaron or Eric, Spencer and Rosita, I was just…recluse. It was like college all over again. Stay inside, talk to maybe four or five people each day, and then carry on. I could live like that again, with a few added obstacles. Like the arrival of the Saviors, for instance.

I’d stayed inside the first time they’d come, practically cowering in Judith’s room, rocking the little girl to sleep, afraid that if she somehow noticed the noises and curses and the thumping of furniture coming from outside she’d begin to cry. When she’d finally fallen asleep against my chest I’d tucked her away back into her crib, keeping a close eye on the Saviors milling around outside. I’d caught a glimpse of Negan strolling alongside and distraught looking Rick before I’d slumped back against the wall, watching Judith as she slept.

So, yeah. I’m a little bitch - confrontation with the Saviors was the last thing I’d wanted. They all looked so…confident. Powerful. And I wasn’t.

The second time the Saviors came, I was unlucky.

Carl had disappeared without a trace, and Rick and Aaron had gone to search for supplies. That left me with Judith, assisted by Olivia. Judith’s nap had been short and eventually I’d retreated into her room, pulling a chair next to her crib, hunching over my notebook while Olivia stayed downstairs. I didn’t know how long I sat, writing and occasionally stopping to entertain the toddler who taken it upon herself to watch me work. My first notebook, which I’d started in _High School_ , of all places, was in my backpack. I’d filled its pages with blueprints and sketches and snapshots and data - everything, really - until I’d run out of pages. Almost like a recording of my brain.

“No - no it’s just an empty-”

The door to Judith’s room swung open and I nearly dropped my notebook. The first set of eyes - well, eye - that I met belonged to Carl. He looked rather upset, his hat lopsided and his posture rigid like a statue.

A mass blocked my view, suddenly, and I found myself staring down at a pair of bare feet. Male _feet._

“I have not see _you_ before. What are you doing back here, hidin’ from me?”

I said nothing. My knees rattled together and I kept staring at Negan’s feet. Feet that slowly transformed into a leg as he knelt down in front of me. Even then he was a head taller, and I refused to meet his eye.

_I’m like a rabbit. If I can’t see him he can’t see me._

“Look at me,” Negan said tersely. I did, lifting my head. Immediately the same thoughts that went through my head when I’d first met Rick and Carl, Maggie, Tara, Glenn, all of them - they rattled inside my brain. Hell, I thought this whenever I met anyone for the first time.

_He’s judging my looks._

_Okay, now my nappy hair. My nose - my skin. My lips._

_Fuck. Now my body. I look like a fucking boy - I’m stocky. Hell, I’ve been mistaken for a boy before he’s probably going to do the same shit._

“What’s your name?”

I had to think for a moment. “Rachel.”

“Rachel,” Negan toyed with the sound for a moment. He smiled, patting my knee and standing back up. His attention moved to Judith and I immediately slid closer to the toddler, standing up resting my palm against Judith’s back. So far, she wasn’t crying. She was just…staring at Negan, trying to figure him out.

“Look at this angel,” Negan hoisted Judith into his arms. I kept a hand on her, still, and he glared. “I’ve f-ing got her. I said f-ing cause, you know, tender ears,” Negan glanced down at Judith. “This your kid?”

“No,” I grumbled. “I mean, is our skin color the same?”  
“You never know,” Negan shrugged, winking. I reeled back.

_Winking. What the fuck. Nobody does that shit to me._

_~ ~ ~_

_The lord is testing me._

By some strange twist of fate or, hell, karma, I found myself standing in the kitchen alongside Negan while he cooked spaghetti like some fucking chef. He’d removed his jacket, and due to the heat of the kitchen I’d done the same, wrapping my sweatshirt around my waist. That, unfortunately, left my arms bare and Negan got to see the writing and symbols scrawled across my left arm.

Carl was kneading the dough, seemingly in a trance, while I simple leaned against the wall and watched Negan stirring the sauce. Again, I was playing rabbit - he’d forced me to come cook with him, but if didn’t move or speak or meet his eye he wouldn’t know where I was. A completely flawless philosophy.

_Not._

“How old are you, _Rachel_?” Negan sang, glancing over at me.

“Eighteen.”

“Damn. _Goddamn_ ,” Negan whistled. “If I had to fucking guess, I’d say you were younger than Carl here. Ten, maybe? Or fucking twelve. I’ll be generous and say twelve.”

“I get that a lot. It’s sad because people said the opposite when I was younger.”

 _Don’t start a conversation!_  
“I mean, I should have known by your, you know,” Negan gestured to his arms. “The tats or whatever the fuck. But shit like that slips your mind. Everyone’s gotta act like an adult these days, right, Carl?”

Carl nodded, but did not stop working. He didn’t even look up.

Negan stopped stirring. He lifted the spoon and tasted the sauce a bit, groaning and raising his eyebrows. “That is fucking _delicious._ C’mere,” he gestured with one hand and I timidly approached him. I saw Carl watching out of the corner of my eye and for a split second I considered faking a heatstroke. It would be just. It would be _smart._ I could vacate the premises.

But also, the sauce smell good. It probably tasted good, too.

_Fuck._

“Want a taste?”

I lightly brushed my finger against the spoon, licking away the sauce and _holy shit_ what was I doing. Negan was staring at me, his eyebrows raised.

“That was not meant to be sexual,” I blurted out. “I just really like spaghetti. I’d deepthroat that entire spoon if I didn’t care about herpes or whatever.”

“Glad to know that you’re so fucking eager,” Negan grinned. “How about you go set the table for us?”

I gave my sweetest, most bubbling smile.

“Gladly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by the dream I had last night where Negan and Spencer were on the porch not drinking scotch, but eating spaghetti, and Negan saw me and patted his thigh and said “Come sit on daddy’s lap” and my thirsty ass obeyed and he fed me spaghetti. 
> 
> I’m crying because this chapter was so fun to write. Legit I’m actually really having fun with this cause I can write something as myself and add in the absurdly stupid shit I think about on a daily basis. But yeah, I hope you guys enjoy this. 
> 
> As I was writing I realized that I was portraying TV Negan more than I usually do. I almost exclusively, by default, write Comic Negan but in terms of speech patterns this fic is more JDM Negan. I can never write Negan without using the word “fuck” excessively so you’ll get your dose of “fucks” for sure, so don’t worry XD

_What the fuck._

I couldn’t keep replaying those words over and over in my head. What the fuck. This shit wasn’t normal - not at all. Lucille had her own chair and glass of lemonade and I was sitting here, gawking at Negan as he rubbed his hands together and eagerly began eating. 

“What kind of shit do you do for fun around here?” Negan asked suddenly. I wasn’t sure who he was addressing, and I didn’t really care as long as it wasn’t me. A nudged Carl with my foot under the table, and he shot me a glare but said nothing.

Negan was becoming impatient. When it was clear Carl nor Olivia would say anything, he turned his attention to me.

“Stoic fucks. Fine, whatever. What do _you_ do for fun around here, _Rachel_? I mean, when you’re not babysitting.”

“I draw,” I said hollowly. “Write. Play soccer alone in the backyard.”

_Fine! Tell him all your fucking hobbies why don’t you?_

“You draw?” Negan purred. 

“I’m basic,” I said dryly. “It’s something I like doing. Has been for a long time. It’s a good stress reliever, and Judith likes to watch.”

“How fucking _sweet,”_ Negan replied. I sunk farther into my chair, staring at my plate. I was so nervous that the thought of eating made me feel, hell, worse. I had to make myself eat, though. He’d cooked this, remarkably. Pissing him off by not indulging in his cuisine was the last thing I wanted to do. 

Negan chatted the entire meal. To Olivia and to Carl, practically going in a circle, asking us questions, making comments. Olivia’s reply’s were quick and simple while Carl gave a quiet one-liner or a sharp nod. 

When I’m nervous, I talk. I’m a sarcastic little shit - it’s funny, almost, because my mouth seems to work on automatic, as if my brain decided to take a backseat. Making up lies would do me no good. Unlike Carl and Olivia, there was nothing about me that needed to be kept a secret. And if there was, Negan would be able to unravel it. 

“I like her,” Negan said suddenly, pointing a finger in my direction. “She’s actually willing to fucking engage in a conversation with me. She’s not a little _pussy_ like some of the people here _.”_

_That’s debatable._

We finished the meal in relative silence. Negan, exasperated at how long Rick seemed to be taking, was the first to rise from the table. I immediately began gathering the dishes while Olivia hastily excused herself from the room, Judith in her arms. Carl seemed torn between ditching and staying - for my sake, I hoped - but I nodded at him to confirm that I had the situation under control.

_The fuck you don’t!_

I mentally cursed. I didn’t have shit under control - I barely had _myself_ under control. By the time I fully realized how badly I’d _fucked_ up, Carl was gone, leaving me in the kitchen with Negan. I furiously focused on the task at hand, dumping the dishes in the sink before grabbing a sponge and soaping them down.

“And here I fucking was, thinking you Alexandrian’s weren’t at all _hospitable!”_ Negan crowed. “Look at you, cleaning up after us,” he leaned against the counter, dangerously close, watching as I ran the plates under warm water. “I fucking love it!”

He was mistaking hospitality for me not wanting my black ass beaten the fuck up. Or maybe he realized that, but felt like turning this into a joke. Shit. My head was spinning, now, like a fucking top.

_Make your intentions clear, you fucking wanker._

“You were all talkative a second ago. What the fuck happened?” Negan asked.

“I’m tired,” I lied. “I’ve had a long day.”

“You sure? You weren’t fucking _tired_ a second ago.” Negan clapped his hands together, and I jumped, rattling the dishes. “I think you’re fucking _scared_ of me.”

I growled, “I’m scared of everyone. You aren’t special.”

My hands stopped scrubbing, and I sighed. I wiped the suds away on my oversized sweatshirt peppered with tears and holes. Negan had fallen silent, and I let out a sigh, daring a glance over in his direction. 

“Scared of everyone, huh? That’s a fucking new one,” Negan said softly. “Goddamn, and here I was thinkin’ you were twelve. Being scared of everyone means you’ve been around a long fucking time. _Everyone_? Damn. Breaks my heart that I’m not your first.”

_Sucks to suck, bub._

I turned red at the innuendo. Fucking _men_. I couldn’t say women were easier to deal with, however. I’ve gotten my ass curved by plenty.

“No, you’re not,” I answered. I turned to leave but he grabbed me, warm hands encircling my wrist. I stopped, turning. 

“What’s your job here?”

“What?”

“You’re job. What the fuck do you do other than babysit?” Negan asked firmly, his mouth set in a thin line. “You’re a fucking big girl. You’re an adult - what’s your job?”

“I do whatever they want me to do. It depends. I’m flexible,” I said. 

“ _Flexible_ ,” Negan smirked, tugging me closer. He held my hand like a child, walking towards the door, arms swinging as if we were a bunch of giddy schoolgirls. 

_Knees weak. Palms sweaty._

This was no time for rap, despite the fact that my palms were, indeed, already beginning to sweat and my knees felt like they might buckle any second. We exited the house only to find Spencer, dressed all nice, waiting for us with a bottle of scotch and a shit-eating grin on his pretty face. 

“Hi.”

_For fucks sake._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S’sup guys! So this special chapter you get to learn about all my fucking nervous ticks and phobias. It’s super great XD

_Quit acting like you have to pee, Rachel._

I didn’t have to pee, but I sure as fuck looked like it. I was doing the dance - shifting back and forth on both feet. One of my earliest ticks began showing itself as soon as Negan and Spencer took their seats in the porches rocking chair, Negan instructing me to stand behind him and “ _don’t fucking move.”_

Whenever my mom and I would argue, I’d feel my fingers begin to twitch furiously. Almost instinctively I’d begin rubbing my thumb and forefinger together out of sheer fear and nervousness, as if I were trying to start a fire. I w as doing it now, making sure to keep my hands behind my back, out of Negan’s sight. There was a familiar ringing in my ears and I kept my head down, ignoring what Negan and Spencer were talking about. 

_Something stupid, probably._

“…Pool table in that garage.”

_Oh, shit._

Negan turned to me, raising his eyebrows. He gestured towards the garage, saying, “You know how to play pool?”

“Sort of kind of. I haven’t played in a long time.”

“Fucking good enough for me. Go help out my boys and bring this thing outside,” Negan stood, grabbing his jacket. When I didn’t move, he barked, “Did you fucking hear me?”

“I heard you,” I answered sheepishly. “I’m going.”

I moved the table in silence, aware of the many stares shot my way by both Negan’s men and the few Alexandrian’s milling around. I wasn’t embarrassed, that was, until Negan slung his arms around my shoulders and I almost sunk into the dirt from the contact. He was a head taller than me and his bare arms were tan and warm. 

“Good fucking work. I’m liking you more and more, you know why? Because you fucking _listen_. You don’t ask questions or cry about it, you just do the shit that I tell you to do, like a _smart fucking girl_.”

“And you thought I was twelve,” I huffed, crossing my arms. Negan smirked and brushed a hand across my cheek and I reeled back as if I’d been stung. I’m not a face-toucher. Maybe I’m a germaphobe, or sensitive, or whatever-the-fuck, but the thought of _anyone_ putting their hands on my face made my stomach twist. It was worse than walking barefoot on hardwood or tile, something else I was vehemently apposed to doing.

“ _Jesus_ , girl,” Negan said loudly. “Did I fucking hit you?”

“No,” I stammered. “Just…don’t touch me there. On my face. I don’t like it.”

Negan raised his hands in a placating gesture, nodding slowly. He grabbed a pool cue and offered it to me, waiting for me to take it.

“You know how to fucking hold a pool cue, right? You fucking know that much?” Negan said earnestly. “Come the _fuck_ on, girl.”

I snapped. The words poured from my mouth like a waterfall, and I snatched the pool cue from his fingers. I looked around me - several of his men were watching, along with Spencer, who seemed impatient and ready to start the game.

“Fine. Fine, you win. I’m not going to lie to you - I’m nervous as hell right now. This is weird for me. All of this is weird for me,” I stammered on. “I’m shit at pool. I’m going to lose. Why the fuck am I even playing this if I’m going to lose?”

“Rachel, you can leave,” Spencer said reassuringly.

“No you fucking can’t,” Negan snapped. “I enjoy your company, _Rachel_ , so you’re fucking staying here.”

_That’s a first._

“Whatever. Fine. Anything for you, _Herr Commandant,_ ” I sneered, resting the cue against my shoulder. “What are the rules? Who goes first. I forgot all this basic stuff.”

“You fucking watch, for now,” Negan said lowly. He turned to Spencer, patting the man on the shoulder. “You get to fucking start, Spencer. Fucking…impress me.”

~ ~ ~

Oh, Spencer impressed him. He impressed Negan enough, in fact, that he received an honorary knife to the gut. Of course, Negan didn’t _warn_ anyone before he decided to murder Spencer so I received a front-row seat to the most disgusting show I’d ever seen.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Rosita took the L and pistol-whipped Negan and _remarkably_ managed to land a hit of none other than _Lucille._

And now I was stuck in the middle of an absolute shit-show, pool cue in hand as Negan’s henchwoman Arat held Rosita down on the asphalt at knife-point.

“ _You fucking shot Lucille_!”

Indeed Rosita had shot Lucille. Negan was stating the obvious and I was about to _shit_ myself from the sheer amount of anxiety I was feeling, and I was just a bystander. 

_Say something! Do something, anything!_

_You’ve lived her for like two months! The hell you trying to be a hero for!_

_Shit yourself. Do it. Legit. Just shit. It’ll distract everyone._

“Negan,” I stammered. Then, louder, “Negan!”

“Shut up!” The savior nearest to me growled. He’d drawn his knife - no gun - and I began inching my way around the pool table as Negan began spitting curses at Rosita. 

“I’ll fix her!” I cried. Negan’s head turned so fast that I was sure he’d give himself whiplash. I said again, as calmly as possible, “I’ll fix her. Your ba— Lucille. I can make her look better than before, I swear. I’m not bullshitting,” I pointed off into the distance, as if that would somehow help prove my point. “I’m an art - was - and art student. I can do it. It was an accident.”

Yeah. An accident. 

_I can work with that._

“She saved you,” I pointed to Lucille. “That’s all.”

Negan’s teeth were bared. He looked like a fucking psycho, face red from yelling, knuckles clenched so hard that they were white. He was heaving, his ire directed at me, now. My “get the fuck out of dodge” senses were tingling, and if shit went south, I wasn’t opposed to making a break for it.

I barely heard what Negan said next. When I managed to snap back into reality he was right in front of my face, holding up the scratched bullet that had fallen from Lucille’s damaged frame. 

_“Who fucking made this?”_

I didn’t say _shit_. I wasn’t about snitch - not that I knew for certain who made the bullet. I had a sinking feeling, however, that it was an acquired skill, and only one person in the crowd possessed that type of ingenuity. 

“I don’t know.”  
Negan shook his head, turning away and holding his bat like a lifeline. He murmured a few words to himself before spinning back around, addressing Arat, who hovered above an incapacitated Rosita like a vulture. 

“Put a gun to her fucking head,” Negan said suddenly, gesturing towards me. I stiffened, my fingers beginning to tremble and scratch against each other like a petrified cat. Arat pressed the cold barrel of her handgun roughly against the side of my head, right above my ear. 

_This is not how I wanted my fucking day to go!_

“I’ll have Arat empty five fucking bullets into your pretty little head,” Negan growled. “If you don’t fucking tell me — ”

“It was me!” Eugene blurted. I sighed, closing my eyes and hearing Negan’s footsteps retreat away from me and towards a cowering Eugene. Art - _the bitch_ \- still had her gun digging into my skin. I prayed she wasn’t too trigger happy - a gunshot to the brain _really_ wasn’t how I wanted to exit the world of the living. 

“Rick, I’m fucking relieving you of your bullet maker,” Negan snarled. Rosita gave a wail of disapproval. Rick approached him cautiously, his eyes darting from Spencer’s gutted corpse to me, standing alone on the opposite end of the pool table, probably sweating my ass off and shaking like a wet dog. 

Negan said, “And your _babysitter_. She’s nice. I like her,” Negan said happily, swinging Lucille and letting her rest against his shoulder. “She’s gonna fucking _fix_ Lucille right the fuck up, make her _nice_ and _pretty_. And if she does a shitty job, hell, I’ll deliver her back to you, _minus a fucking head_.”

_Oh hell no._

Decapitation was worse than bullet to the head. Hell no. Why the _fuck_ and I offered to fix Lucille and why the fuck had Negan taken me seriously? I’d been trying to dissuade Negan from going batshit psycho, and like many of my genius plans, it had backfired. 

Arat’s hands roughly gripped the back of my shirt and she practically shoved me towards Negan and away from my group. Rosita was shouting, begging as the Saviors herded both Eugene and I towards the waiting trucks. 

Running wasn’t an option. My legs felt as if they were filled with lead, and I followed behind Eugene, sticking as close to him as possible. Any minute now I expected Negan to say “fuck it” and end my life right then and there. 

But he didn’t. I was shoved into the passengers seat of a truck and told to _sit tight_ like a _good little girl._ The consequences of me failing to do so would result in my imminent demise. Or, as Negan had said, “possible maiming.” 

“But I really fucking hope it doesn’t come to that,” Negan said, his smile sickeningly sweet as he climbed into the drivers seat. I’d lost sight of Eugene already. “I wouldn’t want to fuck up that face of yours.”

I acknowledged his threat with a hum. The truck rumbled beneath me and Negan haphazardly tossed Lucille into my lap. I stared at him, debating whether or not I should mock him for simply giving me a weapon.

As if reading my mind, Negan said, “You fucking won’t do anything.”

_Survey says: correct!_

“How would you know?” I mumbled. “Maybe I’m secretly a badass. Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“ _Fuck_ no. You’re a fighter, yeah, but you’re smart enough not to fucking fight _me_ ,” Negan chuckled, resting one hand on the wheel and another against the walkie in his lap. 

Okay. He was right about that. I’d waste people my size all day long, I had no doubt in my mind that I was capable of defending myself. But Negan was a head taller than me, stronger, and probably knew ju-jitsu or some shit like that. My skills included hair-pulling, biting, and hitting things as hard as I could until I heard something break. We were not evenly matched _at all_.

He could totally beat my ass, and to be honest, I wasn’t even mad about it.

I kept silent, sitting on my hands to keep them from trembling. I stared at the dashboard in front of me, keeping my head lowered so Negan couldn’t see me start to _cry_ like a little _bitch_. 

_If he asks, blame it on sinuses. You’re nose is always runny. Blame it on that._

“Don’t hurt Eugene, please.”

“What?” Negan snorted. “He can’t make bullets if he’s all fucked up, now can he?”

“I mean, don’t be mean to him,” I said shakily. “He’s scared. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’re going to do to him.”

“Fucking sure,” Negan drawled. “Since you asked so fucking nicely, I’ll consider it. But expect _Lucille_ to look brand-spanking new. You know what the _fuck_ happens to you if she doesn’t?”  
“You’ll chop off my head,” I mumbled.

“ _Correct_ ,” Negan sneered. “And I’ll deliver it to Rick all wrapped up like some sick fucking Christmas present.” 

“If you do, the bow has to be red and purple,” I said lowly. 

“Why the fuck is that?”

“Those are my favorite colors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The face thing is something I’ve had for a while. Like, the only people I let touch my face are doctors - and even then, I rarely feel comfortable letting them. I remember a few years ago someone (idk who) squeezed my cheeks like a baby and i flipped my shit. As for the finger twitching, when my mom and I argue she screams a lot and so ever since I was little I’ve gotten into this habit of rubbing my thumb and forefinger together. It’s like I can’t help it when I get really nervous or scared. And last, walking barefoot on tile or hardwood is a nightmare for me. I’m very ornery about my feet in general, and they have to be clean at all times or else I feel disgusting. Idk if anyone has stuff like this


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeee. Tbh I have no idea where this fic is going, but I'm okay with that. I promise, though, that shit will pick up in the next chapter. This is more just me putting all my fucking weird ass ticks and phobias on paper.

Several times throughout the car ride I considered opening the door and rolling out. I’d break bones, sure. Probably give myself a concussion. Possibly get run over by the caravan of vehicles following us - but was the alternative really worth it?

_How the fuck are you going to fix a baseball bat?_

Paper and glue were the first things to come to mind. The bat had a thumb sized hole in it, and the impact of the bullet had caused the wood to crack a bit like glass. If I could fill in the gaps with something permanent, and then sand it over - hell, was paper and glue even permanent? Maybe just glue, then. Gorilla glue, hot glue. Some strong shit. If I didn’t figure this out my head was going to be in a fucking box.

The vastness of Sanctuary was overwhelming. I expected to see Daryl in the midst of the prisoners, but saw nothing. Carl had explained the layout to me earlier,  but my shit memory had already forgotten it.

_No Daryl. Okay. That’s…good, maybe? Or bad. Very bad._

Negan kept a firm grip on my arm, his mouth set in a grim line when he, too, seemed to notice the absence of a certain redneck. His hold on me tightened when one of his men - some raggedy-ass dude with a fucked up face confirmed that yes, Daryl had escaped, and he’d taken some dude out in the process.

“Bashed Fat Joey’s head in.”

“Did you fucking go after him, Dwight?” Negan snarled. The dude with the fucked up face - Dwight - gulped and shook his head.

“He’s long gone. Probably back at Alexandria by now,” Dwight’s gaze settled on me, and he grimaced. I probably looked like shit, too - not as bad as him, but still, shit. “Who is she?”

“ _She_ is nobody,” Negan said sharply. “There’s someone else I want you to fucking deal with - he makes bullets. Arat will give you the details.”

Dwight nodded, disappearing towards the trucks and _holy fuck_ he was wearing Daryl’s vest. I recognized the wings immediately and I couldn’t help but stare in disgust, curling my lips.

“The fuck kinda face is that?” Negan said.

“Great Value versus Name Brand,” I gestured in Dwight’s direction. “Are you going to steal my stuff, too?”

“Only if I fucking have too,” Negan replied. “If you want me to fucking undress you, girl, you just have to ask.”

“I don’t want that ever,” I said immediately. Negan guided me through Sanctuary like a dog, keeping my leash short. His hand was heavy on my shoulder and I desperately wanted to tell him that I knew how to walk. My dumbass couldn’t tell whether or not his jabs were flirtatious or if he felt the urge to fuck with me, considering that he _already_ knew how old I was.

_I’m not saying I wouldn’t tap that ass -_

“Welcome to  _me fuckin’ casa_ ,” Negan said joyfully, opening the door to his room. Six pairs of eyes stared back at me, all female. The entire room was ornate and rather beautiful, as were the six women transfixed on Negan, who had yet to release me from his grasp. He said loudly, “It’s now yours. _Ladies_ , this is my new fucking assistant. New fucking assistant, these are my wives. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“I’d rather not,” I said dully. “In fact, I’d rather bounce out of here real quick—”

“What? You want to fucking sleep outside?” Negan said lightly, squeezing my arm so hard that it ached.

“No, no. I’m not that desperate - _wives_? Plural?” I stared up at Negan, frowning. “Is this, like, the old days? Are you playing king? I’m not confused I just honestly don’t know how to respond.”

Negan pointed to the door at the far end of the room, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “You can respond my hurrying the fuck through that door over there and waiting for me while I have a little chat with the girls. And take Lucille with you,” he shoved the bat into my arms, giving me a strong, solid push. My feet carried me slowly across the room, and I didn’t hesitate to open the door and close it behind me.

_This is his room, idiot! This is the last place you want to be!_

` I paused. Right. This was his room in all its decorated glory. Dark sheets, dark curtains, dark everything. It was like Negan had purposefully decorated his room to match the blackness of his soul or some shit like that.

I was alone, finally. I could hear muffled voices through the door as Negan began conversing with his, uh, _harem_. I held Lucille like a lifeline before resting her on the coffee table, running fingers through my hair and rattling my brain for something to work with.

I doubted he kept around wood filler. That would be the most obvious ingredient that, if present, would save my life. I could find a way to work with it. Everything else was a hit or miss.

_Like hell I’m dying today._

I could get a few hits in, if all else failed. If I reminded myself to aim for the crotch I could make a break for the door, maybe get far enough that Negan himself wouldn’t be able to catch me. They had guns, sure, and I hadn’t exercised in God knew how long, but it was the effort that would count the most.

“I don’t see you fucking working,” Negan’s voice filtered into my ear. He’d entered the room quietly, and I’d been too distracted to even really notice. I had to start multitasking or else kiss my life goodbye.

“Wood filler,” I blurted. “And maybe some multi-purpose paint. I don’t know how well straight acrylic would blend - I’d have to layer it. Let it dry, and then put more. Not very efficient.”

“You should have said shit on the way over.”

“You didn’t ask,” I growled. Negan raised his eyebrows, smirking and kicking off his shoes. He removed his gloves and his jacket next, reclining on his bed and staring at me with hooded eyes.

“You can be a real _bitch_ , you know that?”

“You’ve known me for a day,” I replied bitterly. “And I’m sorry, dude. I’m ten seconds away from a mental breakdown.”

“The fuck are you doing with your fingers?” Negan sat up.

I’d been twitching again, fingers rubbing together at a rapid pace, hard enough that they’d begun to ache from straining against one another. I quickly clenched my fists, rocking on my heels. 

“When I argue or when I get started I do that. I’m sorry.” 

“And the fucking face thing?” Negan poked at his own skin, frowning. “The fuck is up with that?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “It’s just what I do. I don’t like walking barefoot on hardwood, I eat with my left hand even though I’m right handed, the sight of dust makes me want to vomit, and I sleep with a stuffed animal or else I won’t sleep at all. I don’t know! I don’t know why I do half the crap I do.”

My fingers ached. I was doing it again, and I shoved my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt.

“ _Jesus._ How many fucking problems do you have?” Negan slid off the bed, shuffling over towards me. “And how the fuck are you not _dead_ yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t _fucking_ know?”  

“If I knew I’d tell you,” I replied bitterly. I yelped when Negan’s hands encircled my wrist, tugging them out of my sweatshirt pocket. My fingers were still trembling and I felt like heart was going to leap from my chest. Any minute now he would kill me. I was certain of it.

_Remember, go for the crotch._

“You are fucking adorable,” Negan said soothingly. “Listen, I was fucking around earlier. I’m not going to chop off your fucking head. I wouldn’t do that shit.” 

“What about Lucille?” I said shakily. “Like I said, wood filler, paint…I can do it. I _will_ do it.”

“That’s the kind of enthusiasm I’m fucking looking for!” Negan said, grinning from ear to ear. “ _That’s_ the kind of shit Lucille deserves. She’s very fucking special to me, you know that?” 

“I can tell.”

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Negan breathed. He raised his hand, his palms hovering dangerously close on either side of my cheek. I winced, my shoulders tensing as Negan surveyed my reaction like a hawk. Quietly, he said, “Can I touch you?” 

“Yeah.”

Negan’s palms were warm. I felt as if I were being smothered between two pillows - I scrunched up my nose and Negan tilted his head to the side. His face fell, suddenly, when I sucked in air and desperately tried to maintain my composure.

He pulled his hands away immediately. “Shit, why the fuck are you crying?”

“I’m totally not.

“Yes you totally fucking are,” Negan snapped back. “Your eyes are fucking watering! What the fuck — you didn’t have to let me touch you! You could have fucking said no! _Fuck._ ”

“I was scared. I didn’t want to make you angry.” 

Negan pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Shit_ , girl. I’m sorry,” he backed away, rubbing his hands together.

_How many times have you cried today?_

I was exhausted. I knew that - it was late. My brain was on overdrive, overstimulated. I’d most likely end up crying myself to sleep tonight.

_Wouldn’t be the first time._

“I don’t wear makeup - face stuff, you know? I can’t. I feel like I’m suffocating,” I stammered. “Like, I sure as hell need it but I can’t wear it or else I’ll go insane. I just don’t like…” I waved my hands, unsure of how to properly articulate my point. I furiously wiped away a stray tear before slumping onto the couch, staring at Lucille who was resting on the coffee table. I barely heard Negan as he came and sat next to me.

“What the hell do you do during sex, then?”

“I’m a virgin, dude.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Chill,” I turned to him. “Wood filler, remember? That’s what we need.“

“That’s what _you_ fucking need,” Negan patted my thigh, standing. “But you’re sleeping first. You look fucking tired and you’re acting crazy. I’ll go grab you a blanket.”

I raised my hand.

“ _What_?” Negan sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Where am I sleeping?”

“That couch, dumbass. Where the fuck else? I mean, my bed is pretty fucking big,” Negan shrugged. “There’s room.”

“Not with you in it. Sorry,” I replied. “I kick in my sleep. And I move around a lot. And I don’t have my reindeer with me.”

“Your fucking stuffed animal?” 

“Yep,” I said simply. “So enjoy me not sleeping as soundly as I could. You could have given me time to get my stuff before we left but _no_.”

“What the fuck _ever._ Stay here.”

“May I shower, please?”

“Not today.”

“Fine,” I said. “Then I need to wash my feet, at least. _Please_.”

“Fucking fine. Demanding little bitch.”

Negan disappeared. Ten minutes later he returned with a green blanket and a pillow tucked under his arm. In his opposite hand he held a small cloth and a bottle of water, which he tossed to me haphazardly.

“Wash your fucking feet then go the fuck to sleep,” Negan instructed. “And here. This is yours now, so shut the fuck up about it,” he tossed another object towards me and I caught it, fingers wrapping around tuffs of fake fur.

It was a stuffed dog.


	5. Chapter 5

Negan got up way earlier than I did. I heard him rise while it was still dark out, disappearing into the bathroom before exiting and slipping into new clothes. All the while my peeping ass was wide away, curled up on the couch in a ball and wrapped up in a blanket.

_He has a nice body._

_R-Really? That’s what you’re thinking about?_

I shifted a bit, my eyes following Negan’s figure as he grabbed Lucille and stopped next to the arm of the couch, staring down at me.

“Go get in my bed. I won’t be back for a fucking while - go get some more rest.”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled.

“Did I fucking ask?” Negan jabbed the head of Lucille against my exposed shoulder. Far more forcefully this time, he said, “Go.”

I rolled from the couch, clutching my stuffed dog to my chest and padding across the floor. I was grateful that the floor was carpeted - there was no way I’d have gotten into the bed with dirty, dusty feet, much less a bed that didn’t belong to me.

I was painfully aware of Negan watching me. The sheets were soft, as were the pillows, and I immediately felt glad that I’d complied. I’d barely slept on that couch. Couch’s weren’t made for sleeping.

“If you need shit, Sherry is the person you’ll talk to,” Negan said. “She’s the dark haired one with the resting bitch face.”

I nodded, my cheek pressed into the pillow. Negan looked as if he wanted to say something else, but decided against it and and promptly exited the room, letting the door close softly behind him.

His bed smelled like him. Leather and aftershave and —

_Thirsty bitch!_

_Fuck outta here! Let me enjoy this!_

My back was no longer in a compromising and I could stretch my legs and move and not risk falling off the bed. It was glorious. Wonderful, actually, and within minutes my brain began to shut off, lulling me to sleep.

~ ~ ~

“You look like shit,” Arat said casually. I glanced over at her, before shrugging and matching her pace as we walked through Sanctuary, heading towards the storage area in search of wood filler. I was “borrowing” new clothes from Arat, who had insisted, since she and I were roughly the same size. It was much easier to converse with her without a gun to my head - which Arat had yet to apologize for - and I was already beginning to warm up to her.

_She’s cute, too._

_Quit it_ _!_

“You were real serious about fixing Lucille, weren’t you?” Arat said suddenly, stopping before the storage room door.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so,” Arat knocked three times before a well-built, bald dude with several missing teeth answered.

“Tha’ fuck do you want, Arat?”

“She needs supplies, David,” Arat jerked her chin towards me. “Negan’s orders.”

“Sure.”

The storage room was vast, stock full of everything from old chairs to paint cans, shovels, buckets, an array of scavenged supplies. I stuck close to Arat as she led me towards the back right corner, not making eye contact with David as he followed behind me like stalking predator. I already felt uneasy - David kept _smiling_ whenever he looked my way. And he reeked.

“Here,” Arat tossed me a small can of wood filler. She began rummaging for brushes and paints next, leaving me to occupy David.

_Please don’t talk, please don’t talk —_

“You from Alexandria?”

_Shit._

I nodded. David licked his lips and leaned closer, letting out a ragged breath. He smelled of smoke and tobacco and sweat.

“You friends with that little girl - pretty little thing, dark hair, big eyes? Enid?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, eyes flickering over to Arat. I clutched the wood filler tight against my body, shifting back and forth on both feet. My fists were clenched to keep my fingers from twitching.

“Yeah, you know her? After you fix ole’ Lucy up for Negan, I might have you take me to her,” David said casually, scratching the back of his neck. “I haven’t had a good lay in a long fuckin’ time—”

“She’s with Carl. Rick’s kid,” I said coldly. “I think she’s fine where she is.”

“Oh _honey_ ,” David sneered. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, and I don’t care who she’s with. I’ll pop that little boy’s head right off and take his girl whether she wants it or not.”

“That’s nice,” I said as sweetly as possible, resisting the urge to vomit. 

I felt a strong hand on my shoulder and Arat was there, suddenly, snarling, “Quit being gross, David, and get back to work.”

David raised his hands in a placating gesture, winking at me. I smiled back again,  making sure to seem a genuine as possible - there was no reason to get on his bad side. None at all. Being nice was how I’d survived, not making enemies.

Faking it was the hard part. The thought of David now made me sick to my stomach and his image would forever be associated with something akin to disgust.

“C’mon,” Arat led me from the storage room. She handed me the paintbrushes and the few paints she’d managed to find before dropping me off back at Negan’s room. She didn’t wish me luck, didn’t say goodbye - instead she gave me a sharp nod, instructing me to start working _for my own sake._

Negan was lounging on his couch, notepad in hand when I walked through the door. Lucille lay on the coffee table, her damaged side facing upward. When Negan saw me, he beamed and spread his arms wide.

“Finally! I’ve been fucking waiting for this! Put that shit down and let’s get to _work_.”

“We?”

“I’ve gotta make sure you treat my Lucille fucking nice and right,” Negan replied.

“I’ll treat her fine,” I said lightly, sitting on the chair opposite of him. I peered down at the baseball bat, rolling my shoulders and inspecting the damage as closely as I could.

But I was distracted.

I kept thinking about Enid. Carl. David - all of it. Enid was at Hilltop, I knew, and Carl would most likely join her soon enough. But the Saviors were everywhere, and they would _know_. They _had_ to know. _David_ would eventually know.

“Earth to fucking _Rachel_!” Negan snapped his fingers. “The fuck are you staring off into space for? Let’s work.”

_You can deal with it later. You had shit to do, now._

So I worked.

~ ~ ~

I didn’t know how long it took to fix Lucille, but I got it done. Meticulous lines had been drawn to make it look as if she were brand new, without a trace of damage. We replaced the barbed wire, smoothed her out and polished her until she was glistening.

In that time, I’d become more comfortable and more familiar with the layout of Negan’s room. I knew my place - I had a place. I didn’t feel like a prisoner.

_They’re treating me better than they’re probably treating Eugene._

I didn’t know where Eugene was. They’d separated us intentionally, obviously, and any attempt at bringing him up was shot down immediately by Negan.

“She’s fucking beautiful,” Negan purred. He looked up at me, smiling coyly. “All because of you.”

“Sure. I mean, it wasn’t that hard,” I shrugged. “I like painting, too.” 

“You deserve a fucking reward. You earned it. You _worked_ for it,” Negan leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I saw how you were checking Arat out earlier.”

_Oh, shit._

“So?” I said.

“She’s hot, I fucking agree. Scary as shit, too,” Negan chuckled at my mortified expression. “Now, I don’t know if she’s into dick or pussy or if she swings both ways like you, but I suggest you ask her for yourself and give that shit a try.”

“No,” I said immediately. “There’s no point.” 

“Fine. Fucking fine,” Negan crossed his arms. “Then how about you and I get fucking _freaky—”_

My cheeks turned a blazing red color. For a moment I just stared at him, before reality slapped me in the face and leaned away from him, saying, “Real _funny._ ” 

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I’m laughing so hard right now,” I said, monotone. Then, with more of a bite I added, “You’re like Arat. You’re out of my league, dude.”

“If I were fucking around you would know it by now.”

“I know your taste in women,” I said lowly. “You have a bunch of them out there waiting for you.”

“Variety is the spice of life—”

“I do like older men. You’re older than me and I’m of age and that’s cool. Absolutely fine. Whatever,” I stressed. “I don’t even know how…if I’m comfortable with sex, yet, but that doesn’t matter because you need to raise your standards like, way higher. I’m the last person you want to fuck.”

“And why is that?”

“Dude. Look at me,” I said dryly. “I have a list, in my notebook. I’d read it off to you but it’s in Alexandria. You don’t want me. _I_ don’t even want me.”

“What the fuck do you think is wrong with you—”

“All of it,” I replied sharply. I sighed and laced my fingers together. “I’m just not…I just don’t like me. I don’t. I never have. I’m boring. _Ugly_ ,” I stressed the lost word. “Gremlin ugly. And there’s a lot of fucking…jealous shit in me, and anger, because I’m not who I want to be.”

Negan was listening intently. Remarkably, I had yet to start crying. I assumed it was because I was used to this, now. Used to reciting how I felt about life.

My mind drifted back to David. I had a plan in the back of my mind — what I was willing to do, if it meant keeping Carl and Enid safe. I’d take the plunge. Maybe not kill David, but just…send him a message. I’d probably die doing so, but it wasn’t like my life really mattered in the first place…

I wasn’t afraid (okay, maybe a little) but I just…didn’t care. I didn’t care anymore. As long as it got done.

“It’s a damn shame,” Negan said softly. “That you fucking have all that shit going in your brain. I’m assuming me reiterating that I would take great joy in screwing you isn’t going make you any more fucking eager. That’s fine. Shit like this is a work in progress.”

“Yeah. I’m still just a kid to you, aren’t I?”

“You don’t act like a fucking kid. Sure, you talk pretty fucking ridiculous, but so do half my men and they’re nowhere near as smart as you are,” Negan stood up, staring down at my hunched frame. He extended a hand, waiting patiently for me to take it. He added, “So no. I’m going to treat you like a fucking adult, see where that leads us. Now let’s so we can go get something to fucking drink.”

_I’ll take this reward._

I grasped his hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Carl/Enid/David conflict is actually based on something that legit happened to me back in High School. This kid who was known for being, uh, aggressive (he was 20 yrs old and a senior in High School) attempted to rape (and threatened to do it again) one of my closest friends (who was 14 at the time so…he’s also a pedophile I’m pretty sure) and also threatened to murder her boyfriend. Being the prestigious school that we were, the staff and authorities didn’t do jackshit (cause they didn’t want to tarnish our school’s reputation) which left us to pretty much deal with it ourselves, and we managed to do so using some convoluted blackmailing. And that’s a seriously shortened version of the story, cause I was fully prepared to do the jail time if it meant getting that sicko away from my friends. Bottom line, High School sucks. There are so many fucked up stories I have left to put in here cause I swear I’ve been dragged into the most absurd bullshit.
> 
> Any yeah the rest is just my feelings about me since, ya know, I don’t like myself at all XD sorry for the lack of humor in this chapter. Next chapter is going to be a fucking doozy so watch out XD


	6. Chapter 6

“Beer tastes like shit. So does wine,” I said. “I only drink fruity stuff. I don’t know how you do it—”

“You’ve got to acquire the fucking taste,” Negan smirked.

“But that means I have to drink it a bunch, and I’m not gonna do that,” I replied. I dug through the cooler that Dwight had brought up - it was an assortment of random shit, from old-ass gin to scotch to some pink and green and purple shit that looked fizzy and very thirst-quenching.

My company consisted of Negan, Dwight, Arat, some tall-ass dude named Simon and a few other Saviors. Not enough to be considered a party, but more of a “gathering.” I didn’t know how late it was and I really didn’t care - the pressure of fixing Lucille was off my shoulders, finally.

Now I didn’t know what to do with myself. The thought of Negan sending me back to Alexandria seemed….unpleasant? Strange?

_I’m one more mouth to feed. He has to send me back._

“Hard lemonade,” Negan said suddenly. “There’s some in there. That’s fucking fruity enough for ya.” 

“That’s what I have in my hand,” I raised my bottle in a mock toast. “You sure you ain’t buzzed off your ass?”

Negan’s eyes narrowed. He jerked his chin towards Simon and said, “Turn on some fucking music. I’m not fucking sitting in silence.”

Simon did. Immediately a man’s rough, sing-song voice filtered through the room along with the thrumming of a guitar and vocals straight from the 80’s.

“What is this bullshit?” I said. Simon shrugged, and Negan, along with several of his men, let out a bellowing laugh. I raised my eyebrows, pointing with one finger at Negan and saying loudly, “I mean it. This music _sucks._ Ya’ll need to be cultured a little bit. I can’t turn up to this—”

“You know how to fucking dance?” Negan said.

_Girl. You’re drunk. Go home._

_Am I? Shit!_

“When I dance, people die,” I said simply, giggling at the thought. “I’m that good. I don’t want to hurt anyone so I’ll stay my ass down.”

“I want to see you dance,” Arat called, raising her glass.

_Impress her! Maybe then she’ll kiss you -_

“No while I’m drunk. I am drunk, right?” I turned to Negan. “I need to make sure because, like…I don’t know.”

“You’re a little bit fucked up,” Negan said, laughing and leaning in close to me, his breath tickling my skin. “But so am I.” 

“Get a room, you two,” Simon called.

“I’d rather get a room with Arat—”

_Shit. Shit, no, don’t say that!_

_Why not? She’s hot. She’s kind of into you - you haven’t kissed anyone in forever —_

I was a bold fucker when I had alcohol in me. Didn’t help that my sex-drive seemed to skyrocket and I made moves on everyone.

“I’m down with that, shit,” Arat called. “I didn’t know you were a fucking dyke.”

“Dyke is an offensive word,” I burped and giggled. Shit was funny to me. I still got a kick out of burping and farting, like a fucking eight year old. “I am what the children call ‘pansexual.’ I’d fuck anything with a pulse.”

_That’s not what that means, Rachel. Shit._

“You are officially fucking intoxicated,” Negan said, leaning back in his chair and sighing. I rested my head against his shoulder, fluttering my eyelashes in a terrible attempt at making myself look hot.

I lost track of time, eventually. Not that I’d been keeping track in the first place, but my fucked up mind knew it was getting really late when even Arat couldn’t hold her liquor and decided to go to sleep, brushing a finger against the back of my neck and whispering a few suggestive words. Dwight was next, along with a majority of Negan’s men, save for Simon, who’d decided to just curl up in a corner and fall asleep.

“Like a baby,” I drawled, smiling as Simon gave a loud snore. Negan stared down at me, smirking. I laughed, nuzzling his shoulder like a cat and staring up at him through hooded eyes. I said softly, “You have a nice looking face. Congrats on the face.” 

“So do you.” 

“Naw. It’s all…fucked up. My nose is to big.”

“I think it looks fucking fine,” Negan replied. “You have fucking beautiful eyes. They’re like…caramel or honey or some shit.”

“ _Dude_ , thanks,” I responded. “You’re a real one. A true homie. I’m going to kiss you, now.”

This wasn’t my first kiss - far from it. But it was my first time kissing a _guy_ and I had no idea if there would be any difference. For a moment I’d forgotten that he’d shaved so I was surprised when I didn’t feel his rough stubble against my skin.

_The dude has, like, five wives and you’re gonna put your mouth on him?_

_Fuck yeah I am._

Negan was, obviously, a good kisser, and I’m pretty sure my drunk ass wasn’t, so it was a miracle that Negan even indulged me when I decided to get bold and slip my tongue into his mouth.

_Go for the dick! Go for the dick!_

Negan stopped me, pulling away. He was panting, taken aback but not at all angered. He said quickly, “Not while you’re fucking drunk, girl. Sorry not fucking sorry.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Okay. Fuck. Okay, that’s cool. That’s gucci. I’m okay with that.”

“Do you want to go to sleep?” 

“Yeah. Walk with me.”

“We’re going to the same fucking place.”

“That is true,” I raised a finger, standing up and haphazardly shimmying towards the door. I felt Negan’s arms guide me through the vacant halls of Sanctuary and into his room, where I began searching for a bucket of water and a cloth. I had no energy to shower tonight, but the feet had to be cleaned. The feet and the face.

“I’m sorry for kissing you,” I blurted. Negan turned, folding his jacket removing his gloves. My feet and face were still wet and I’d draped myself across the couch, my mind finally beginning to calm. Sort of.

“You don’t have to fucking apologize for that,” Negan grinned. “I’ll kiss you all fucking day long, but only when you’re sober.”

“It’s not fair to your girls,” I sniffed, glancing towards the door. “Carl told me how you ironed someone for…like, you ironed some girls boyfriend cause she cheated. You just cheated so you gotta iron me.”

“It wasn’t supposed to fucking happen like that,” Negan sighed. “You need to go the fuck to sleep. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Aye-aye, captain,” I gave him a thumbs up, pressing my face into the pillow. “I’m beaming myself into dreamland now. Goodnight.”

~ ~ ~

“You look shitty, also, where are you fucking pants?”

I shrugged. They were somewhere on the couch, amongst the covers- my oversized sweatshirt covered enough of me, and I just had to remember not to bend over. I watched in a daze as Negan, bare chested, tugged a white shirt over his torso.

“If someone walks in they’re gonna get the wrong idea,” I said sleepily, rubbing my eyes. When Negan’s back was turned and hopped onto the couch and began rummaging for my pants, cursing as they became tangled in the blankets. “It was hot last night, so I must have taken these off or something during the night. I don’t remember.”

Negan stared at me, and I shrugged, wiping drool from my chin. I asked him, suddenly, “Was last night really a thing that happened?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Did I apologize for trying put my tongue in your mouth?” 

“Several fucking times,” Negan rolled his eyes. “You tried to fuck Arat, too. It was fucking entertaining,” Negan chuckled and grasped Lucille, testing her weight in his hands. “She might still be down for it.”

I sat on the couch, blankets bunched up against my sides. I held my discarded pair of pants in one hand, my eyes raking across Negan’s lean body. It was one thing to say that I wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to him, but it was another thing to actually _try_. It was fear that kept me from trying anything, and I knew that it if hadn’t been for the alcohol I would have _never_ attempted to kiss him.

“Where are you going?” I asked suddenly, peering up at Negan. “I don’t want to stay here all day, if you don’t mind. I would have thought you’d have let me go by now.” 

“I don’t want to,” Negan said softly. “But I don’t want the alternative, either.”

“What alternative?” I asked. When Negan didn’t reply, I pressed on. “Tell me. Please. What’s the alternative?”

“I wanted you to marry me,” Negan said, and I was shocked to see that he looked _embarrassed._ He added, “It’s your fucking choice. You wouldn’t have to work for shit - for points—”

“I’d just wear a dress and walk around?” I raised my eyebrows.

_What? You like dresses and you like him. What’s so bad about that?_

“You’d be safe,” Negan stressed. He set Lucille against his bed and sauntered over, sitting on the couch next to me. “Safer than you were back at Alexandria. Safer than you were with fucking _Prick_ Grimes.” 

“And I’d have to have sex with you, right?”

Negan looked lost. He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling softly before hesitantly reaching out to grab my hand. “Forget I said anything.”  
“No,” I said firmly. “I want to talk about it. I do. I’ve been through this before. I don’t know how I feel because I can’t, like, feel or whatever. I don’t know. I was drunk  but not drunk enough to forget that I liked kissing you, so that’s a start. But I don’t know if it’s enough to make me…comfortable with, you know, sex stuff.”

_It’s partially you. You don’t think you’re worthy of that type of attention._

“You’d fuck Arat, though, right?” 

“Yeah, because I’ve done shit with girls before,” I mumbled. “And that was a while ago, and it didn’t even go well. So I don’t know how I’d be.”

Negan acknowledged my words with a nod. Then, in his low, gravely voice he said, “Since you’re now sober, I’d very much enjoy you fucking kissing me again.”

I snorted, ducking my head. “I’m such fucking _child_. What do you even see in me? Go back with your ensemble of hot girls—”

“None of those girls in there give a shit about _me_ ,” Negan hissed. “And I know because they haven’t fucking talked to me like the way you’re talking to me. You care enough and feel comfortable enough to let me hear the shit that goes on in your head.”

_Goddamn, he’s smart._

I leaned forward and pecked him on the mouth, pulling away in embarrassment. I tilted my head like a confused bird before diving back in, not sure what to do with my hands - Negan’s were on my thigh, now, pretty much keeping me from falling over. I felt him catch my lower lip between his teeth and lightly tug. My brain kicked into overdrive when I felt his hands brush against my waist.

“No,” I jerked my head away. “I can’t. Not now.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Negan murmured, reaching down to squeeze my hand. “We’ll take this slow and fucking steady.”

“Thank you,”  I murmured.

“You asked what the fuck I was going to do with you,” Negan said. “I still haven’t decided. How about we discuss it over a supply run?”

“Is this how we date, now?” I chuckled. “Supply runs, killing walkers, kissing a little?” 

“I’m down if you’re down.”

_Fuck. Yes._


	7. Chapter 7

“You know how to shoot a gun?” Arat asked gruffly. I raised my eyebrows, staring at the handgun Arat held in her hand. She was offering it to me, holding the barrel between her thin fingers. I took it, testing its weight and desperately trying to remember what I’d learned from my cousins. They’d been my main teachers when it came to self-defense due to my mothers phobia of guns.

“If I can remember,” I replied. I felt Negan’s hand briefly touch my shoulder before he leaned down next to my ear, pointing to the hobbling walkers. The gates of Sanctuary were closed behind us, leaving us out in the open. Our group was small - Arat, Negan, Dwight, and myself. Dwight remained in the truck while Arat, Negan and I took to the road for a short course of what appeared to be weapons training.

“I don’t like wasting bullets on those undead fucks, but I’ll make an exception for you,” Negan murmured. “That is, if you’re a good enough fucking shot. Have at it.” 

My fingers ghosted over the trigger and I scavenged my brain for any information regarding what I’d been taught. I remembered where and what the safety was, I remembered how to hold it, I remembered the _noise —_

_You were a good shot, remember?_

I took a few steps forward, raised the gun, and squeezed the trigger. The sudden explosion of sound startled me and I sent the bullet into an undead’s chest, cursing. The fact that my nerves were running wild didn’t help, and as the walkers began hobbling in our direction, drawn by the noise, I managed to steel myself and fire again.

_One, two, three. Four food good measure._

Four walkers dropped, but my hands were still shaking, still adjusting. I felt Negan brush past me, along with Arat. They dispatched he remaining walkers before turning to face me, and dare I say it, they looked… _impressed_. Negan, especially.

He looked damn near _proud._

“Some members of my family,” I explained. “I — I learned how to shoot a while ago. I guess it’s a talent, I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of those.”

“Goddamn. Rick’s people should have let _you_ try and fucking take me out. You would’t have missed and hit Lucille, unlike that other fucking bitch.”

“Rosita,” I breathed.“Please don’t call her a bitch.”

Negan chuckled and patted me on the back. I slid into the truck, cramming in next to Arat while Dwight put his foot on the gas, driving through the walker corpses strewn across the road. I was stuck between him and Negan, the meat of some sandwich - one of my legs was awkwardly draped across Negan’s thigh, and he was smirking at me, fingers drumming patterns against my torn jeans.

“Are you officially a Savior, now?” Dwight said, glancing over at me. When I didn’t reply, he nodded at Negan.

“I don’t fucking know,” Negan grinned. “If this run doesn’t go fucking haywire, I might consider it. Think of this as your final exam, Rachel.”

“What happens if I fail? You’ll send me back to Rick?”

“I never planned on sending you back,” Negan replied. “And that was only because I _knew_ you wouldn’t want to fucking go back. At least, not without Eugene.” 

Anger coiled within me, and I glared. What the _fuck_ was that supposed to mean? Was he using Eugene? Had he found another purpose for him other than making bullets?

He’d figured it out, and he was absolutely right. I wouldn’t be leaving unless Eugene got out first.

I’d ignored the guilt. The task of fixing Lucille had distracted me, and my obvious attraction to Negan had distracted me. Now I was out, my mind free, working for Negan. Using my skills to get supplies for him.

_You’ve never been close to the Alexandrian’s. None of them are at all interested in you, yet you feel obligated to care for them. To care for Eugene, keep him safe._

I squeezed my eyes shut. The only thing left in Alexandria, for me, was Judith. And she probably hadn’t even noticed that I’d disappeared.

“You have me caught,” I sighed. “I’m not going back. Not after this.”

Negan squeezed my hand. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dwight sneer at the display of affection, his expression going unnoticed by Negan. He said nothing and kept driving, keeping his eyes on the the road as we sped towards our destination.

_Wherever that was._

~ ~ ~

“Kacey General Hospital,” Dwight said, squinting and shielding his eyes from the sun. I adjusted my hat, eyes falling across Negan as he gnawed on his lower lip, contemplating what decision to make. The hospital parking lot was devoid of walkers - a rare sight - but the building itself was worse for wear, the walls blackened and caved in from the bombings. There was no telling how the interior had faired without checking it.

“Medicine is something we need,” I said. “It’s the one thing we have to scavenge for, since you’re taking every thing else from Alexandria and Hilltop,” I cringed at my last few words, shoving any thoughts of Alexandria into the back of my mind.

“I fucking agree with you,” Negan scratched his chin, sighing and hopping from the truck. I followed as Dwight flipped off the truck and slid from the drivers seat, walking around to join Negan, Arat and I as we surveyed the hospital. Negan nudged me with his elbow, murmuring, “I’ll let you keep whatever goodies you fucking find. Deal?”

“What type of goodies do you expect there to be at a hospital?”

“I don’t fucking know. Clothes. _Condoms_.”

I rolled my eyes, my cheeks blazing a bright red. I stormed forward, hearing Negan chuckle loudly behind me.

_You have to admit, the joke wasn’t that bad. Just wait until he sees how you really are in private - he won’t know what hit him._

We entered the hospital. The lobby was devoid of life, light streaming in through the shattered windows. Empty bulbs dangled from the ceiling, held by a single string, and debris littered the floor. Debris, and what I guessed was blood.

_Just pretend its a haunted house. You’ve seen plenty of real blood in your lifetime. This isn’t any different._

“No splitting up, alright?” I said, wincing when my boots crunched through some broken glass and the noise was far to loud for my liking. “I’m assuming everyone here has watched a scary movie? You know the trope, right? Guess who always dies first?”

“We’ll cover more ground that way,” Negan replied, and I rolled my eyes. He raised one gloved finger and added, “We’ll clear this place first. Does that make you fucking happy?”

I cringed. The thought of splitting up at all made my stomach churn, but I managed to nod my head and hope it didn’t come to that.

We examined each floor one at a time, grabbing whatever we deemed important and shoving it into our backpacks. We weren’t supposed to be bringing back a whole truckload - that job, as Negan said, belonged to Alexandria and Hilltop and some place he called the Kingdom. This was more of a pleasure grab than anything else, and we prayed that we’d at least find some usable medical supplies.

“Bandages,” Arat called disposing her find into her backpack. “Empty syringes, sterilized needles…these are some good pickings.”

“What about pills?” I asked, a sudden thought striking me. I gulped, lowering my voice as I heard Dwight and Negan out in the hallway. “Like, brain-pills. Zoloft, stuff like that?”

“All of that would be at a pharmacy,” Arat replied, shaking her head. “Most of those types of things have expired by now. What for?”

I shrugged. “Just to get back on a routine. Forget about it - it’s nothing.”

Arat nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. She stood, brushing a comforting hand across my shoulder. She stopped at the door, glancing back at me and saying, “You’re one of us, you know? Or, at least, it feels like you are. Don’t let me be wrong about that.”

I nodded, standing and following her out into the hallway, rejoining Dwight and Negan. This was almost too good to be true - the walkers we’d encountered had been maimed, unable to walk and only requiring a good stab to the head.

_When shit goes good you know shit ain’t right. It’s a curse with you, Rachel. You’re bound to fuck something up, as is tradition._

I’m a pessimists at heart, and my instincts usually prove to be pretty accurate. So I wasn’t surprised at all when, towards the conclusion of our journey, we came across the most fear-inducing zinger of all.

Well, for me it was fear-inducing. Dwight didn’t seem to give a shit, nor did Arat. Negan looked a tad bit nervous but managed to suck it up while I was left gaping and shivering.

This side of the building had been hit with a missile - several missiles - leaving a gaping, bus-sized hole and no floor, save for a thin stretch pressed against the wall, conveniently large enough for a human to scale it, though with careful precision. Had the damage been minor and the fall too, say, the next floor, I would have been cool. Gucci. But since God had decided to test me today, the drop wasn’t at all that gracious.

I could see the receptionist desk when I peered over the edge. We were on floor number nine.

Would the fall kill me? Maybe. Probably. My bones were brittle.

_Probably because you stopped drinking milk back in high school, dumbass!_

“There are a few rooms left, along with storage,” Negan licked his lips. “You guys fucking down?”

“No,” I wheezed. “I don’t consent to this - time out.”

“You scared of heights?” Dwight asked.

“Yeah. Yeah,” I replied. “I don’t fuck around with stuff like this.”

“Then go wait by the fucking truck,” Negan smirked. “Go back down there _alone_.”

Fuck.

Phobias and stubbornness don’t match well. I was stubborn - it ran in my family. But I was also a huge _pussy_ when it came to spiders and heights and, of course, I had to be faced with the latter of the two while essentially trying to impress Negan.

It was either do this, or walk back through that dark, smelly hospital by myself. I barely remembered the route we took, and since my sense of direction sucked, there was a very real chance I’d get lost and stumble upon something less than pleasant.

“Fuck all of this,” I doubled over, groaning. Arat was already moving, testing the integrity of the floor before pressing her back against the wall and shimmying ever so slowly towards the other side. Dwight went next, going slow and working his way across.

“Ladies first,” Negan said slyly. Then, more seriously, he said, “You’ll feel more comfortable with me behind you. If you catch my fucking drift.”

“I do fear fart,” I said blankly. “So, I’m sorry in advance. It’s mainly just air. If you _catch my drift_.”

“How did I fucking find you?” Negan laughed. “Crazy bitch.”

I glanced over my shoulder - Dwight and Arat were halfway across. I sucked in a breath, mimicking Arat’s actions and testing out the floor before taking bay-steps sideways, pressing my back into the wall.

“Keep your eyes forward!” Arat called out shakily. “Looking down doesn’t help!”

I didn’t even make it halfway before I started bitching out. Telling me not to look down never worked - I’d always looked down. I had to see what I’d land on if I were to fall.

_The fucking ground, dumbass. What else would you hit?_

“Keep fucking going!” Negan called. I was frozen in place, the mere though of moving making my skin break out in a sweat. _Fuck no._ I couldn’t do this. This is where I drew the line —

“Rachel!” Arat called. She’d made it over. “Listen to me! Go _slow—_ ”

“My black ass can’t go any slower than this!” I howled. I managed to take one step - then another. Blood roared through my ears, making it difficult to focus.

“ _Rachel_ ,” Negan said softly. At the sound of his voice I moved my eyes, and saw him calmly staring at me. He raised his chin, and I followed his gaze. “Grab that door handle right there.”

“You’re not cursing,” I heard him inch closer to me, stopping within arms length. “Is this when shit gets real? When you stop cursing?”

“I don’t fucking know — just grab the fucking door handle!”

“See, now I’m less nervous. Amazing,” I swallowed, a bead of sweat trickling down my neck. I took a few more steps forward, reaching the blue door and grasping its slippery handle, intending to inch past it.

_Didn’t think so._

The door swung inward, triggered by the slight pressure of my hand. Instinctively, I stepped forward, only to find myself face to face with a grotesque looking corpse ready to grab me.

“FUCK!”

I tried to close the door - key word, tried - but the walker already had my shirt in its grubby, nasty fingers and had me back against the doorframe, mouth open. I caught the faintest glimpse of Negan springing forward like a cobra, appearing behind the walker and tackling it away like a linebacker.

Then he was gone. Both of them. There, then gone.

I stared.

_The fuck did they go?_

_I don’t even know what the fuck just went down. Is the homie Negan dead? Did he just do some Harry Potter type shit —_

A sudden crash and a bellow of obscenities snapped me out of my trance, and I braced both arms against the doorframe, peering down into the lobby. Negan lay, sprawled out across the corpse of the walker, limbs askew. The fact that the walker had cushioned his fall only dawned on me when Negan stirred a bit, raising his head.

“I think I fucking broke something.”

_Oh, yeah, you broke something alright. Somethings. Plural._

“Negan?” I called, my voice ragged.

“We’re coming!” Dwight shouted. She glanced up at me, scowling. “Stay put, Negan!”

“I ain’t fucking going anywhere,” Negan replied, his voice muffled. “Holy _shit_ that hurt.”

I ducked my head, letting out a sigh. He wasn’t dead. Good.

_He ain’t dead, but you sure as fuck should be._

_Your ass in in trouble._


	8. Chapter 8

Some pro’s and con’s of our supply run.

1\. We recovered far more medical supplies than we originally thought, and had no trouble gathering _or_ transporting them back.

2\. Bonding time with Arat.

3\. I managed to find some new clothes - my own clothes, and Negan had allowed me to keep them.

Con’s.

1\. Everything else.

Negan had suffered several broken ribs, a concussion, a sprained wrist, and several pulled muscules. It was a miracle - the walker, which had matched him in height and bulk, had acted as a cushion. Carson had calculated that, had he not landed the way he did, he would either be dead or paralyzed.

_He did it to save you._

_You._

_He’s like this because of you._

He was confined to his room, and I’d been positioned as his maid. I assumed it was punishment - though I preferred being a maid instead of the alternative. Simon had made a threat involving an iron, and I’d straightened up immediately. Arat had come to my defense, shielding me from Simon’s angry gaze and instructing me to fetch Negan his dinner.

“It’s not your fault,” Arat murmured. I nodded, trying to calm myself and going to grab Negan a plate of food, though not before thanking Arat, leaning over and gently pressing my lips against her cheek.

_You like her._

_Yeah, I do. But not…it wouldn’t work. And she knows that._

_Neither will you and Negan, but you keep holding out on that one._

I sighed, making sure to knock before I entered the room that Negan and I were _still_ sharing. They had to have extra rooms, but I quickly realized that this was all a game, and I was still, technically, a prisoner. Negan would do what he wanted.

“I brought you meatloaf. Or, I hope this is meatloaf,” I said softly, setting the plate on his bedside table. His shirt lay in a crumpled heap at his feet, and my eyes raked across his toned chest, down to the mottled bruises splattered across his ribcage. He looked like he’d been through a blender - his face looked worse for wear, his hair mess and his eyes rimmed with dark circles.

“I’ll go now,” I said quietly.

“Where the fuck are you going to go?” Negan rasped. He shifted, cursing, and I quickly scanned the room for an ice pack. Anything to soothe his pain.

“I don’t know. Help out Carson, maybe.”

“That’s a waste of fucking talent. If you want to make yourself fucking useful you can go with Simon to Alexandria tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Didn’t fucking think so,” Negan laughed wheezily. “You’re a good shot, though. Simon would like that. For the most part.”

“For the most part,” I echoed. Negan nodded, patting the bed. I hesitantly sat down, feeling him shift again, his breath warm against the back of my neck.

“You ever sucked a dick before?” 

“No,” I replied, keeping my face as neutral as possible. “We’re still cool? After what happened?”

“What exactly fucking happened?” Negan leaned back and I turned to face him, fingers clenching the dark bedsheets. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“I almost got you killed.”

“Because of something _I_ told you to fucking do,” Negan said coldly. “Look, Simon doesn’t fucking trust you. A bunch of my men don’t fucking trust you, but they fucking _will_. They _know_ me. All of them were outcasts, strangers before they became Saviors.”

“You saved me,” I said hollowly. “You didn’t have to.”

“I did. And hey, I knew what I was fucking doing,” Negan tried to spread his arms but hissed at the movement. “This isn’t my first fucking rodeo, _Rachel_.”

I didn’t flinch away when I felt his hands at my waist, squeezing the soft flesh above my hips. His mouth ghosted across the exposed flesh of my neck and I shivered, slowly leaning into his touch.

“Turn your ass around and kiss me,” Negan mumbled. I obeyed and he grinned, chuckling against my mouth. I reached up to lightly touch his shaven face, and for the first time, I didn’t feel _nervous_. My stomach didn’t coil in anticipation and worry, and I couldn’t hear my heart pounding in my chest.

“Lay down,” Negan huffed. I refused, even as he place a hand on my chest and gave a soft push. I knew what he wanted, and I was ready. Or, I hoped I was ready. Uncertainty was beginning to boil within me.

“Negan, _no._ ”

Negan groaned and squirmed, the covers pooling around his waist. I glanced down, my fingers brushing against his knees. I gave a deep sigh, steeling myself.

“I don’t want to hurt you — you should probably lean against the bed frame or something, cause I’m going to be sitting on you—”

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Negan said softly. I shrugged, rolling my shoulders.

“I know, but I want to do it. I’m just…nervous. Like going on a rollercoaster or something.”

“I’ll help you, don’t fucking worry,” Negan said between clenched teeth. My hand had moved from his bruised knee, down his thigh, towards his hip, getting closer and closer to the sweet-spot between his legs.

_Okay, easy. You’ve read about dicks before._

_Yeah but you’ve never touched one! A real, live one!_

My brain jolted me back into action, and my hands move automatically towards the waistband of his boxers. My cheeks were blazing red and Negan noticed this, nodding slowly and reaching out to gently touch my wrist with his one good hand.

“Go as slow as you want,” he said. “And if you want to stop, tell me.”

“This is supposed to be, you know, for you,” I said shakily, my fingers pinching at his skin. I shifted onto my knees, getting into a comfortable position between his legs. I tugged his boxers away quickly, finally wrapping my hand around the hardening flesh between his thighs.

_Step 1: Complete!_

Negan gave a guttural growl, his injuries momentarily ignored. The pleasure was distracting enough, and he leaned forward to give me a quick kiss before murmuring, “You’re doing fucking excellent, sweetheart.”

_Okay, you’ve got your hand on his dick. What now? Phase two, Rachel._

I ran my thumb across the head of his dick, feeling his hips twitch beneath me. He was making these _filthy_ sounds that made my thighs clench in anticipation and arousal.  

“Dollface, you’ve gotta stop fucking teasing me…”

“This is not intentional I just don’t know what to do,” I squeaked.

“Put your fucking mouth on me.” 

“We’re working towards that,” I said, giving his cock and few half-hearted jerks before shimmying back a bit so I could duck my head between his legs and wrinkling my nose, my eyes beggining to water.

“Hold up,” Negan said, and I listened, raising my eyebrows as he tugged me back up and into his lap. “You’re fucking shaking. You’re not going to do this while you’re fucking shaking.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re _not_ fucking fine. I can fucking _tell_ ,” Negan murmured. I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified when I felt a tear escape and slid down my cheek.

_Fuck._

Negan wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. For once, the contact didn’t bother me, and I sniffed and gave him another kiss. I rather enjoyed kissing — the gesture felt _sweet_ to me.

_It’s cause you don’t kiss unless you care. You’ve always done that._

“This might take a while,” I mumbled. Negan chuckled and rested his forehead against my collarbone, his breath tickling my skin. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead, just basking in his presence.

“I don’t think I’m worth…or, like I’m worthy of sex,” I murmured.

“Who the fuck told you that?”

“It’s because I’m ugly,” I held back a sudden oncoming sob. I was spilling my guts again - I hated it. Hated it, hated it. My mother had hated it, my friends had hated it, but I couldn’t help what was wrong with me. “I’ve gotten so much shit from people my entire life—”

“You are _not_ ugly,” Negan said firmly. “That is bullshit. Complete _bullshit_!”

“Then how come you’re probably going to be the first person I have sex with? Ever? And we’re not even the same fucking age. Not even close! How come Carl has Enid and Rick has Michonne, and Maggie _had_ Glenn, and _everyone_ has or had someone? I’m just Rick’s fucking pathetic babysitter. I’m worth _nothing._ ”

Negan stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line as I continued. “I wanted to fix Lucille because I wanted you to kill me. It’s always how I’ve been - I put so much energy into other people because I have zero self-worth. I’m willing to do anything to make sure someone else lives, not because my heart is in the right place, but because I _don’t care about me_.”

“I care about you,” Negan said, and for a moment he sounded like a child. Desperate.

“Why? I don’t see one thing worth caring about,” I snarled. “Maybe you’d care if I looked like Rosita or Michonne or _Maggie_. You know, beautiful and capable.”

“Okay. I guess I just risked my fucking life to save you for shits and giggles, then,” Negan narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. “Get your _head_ out of your _ass._ You wanna know why you’re still fucking here and not dead? Same as Carl. You’re a _badass_ , understand?”

I turned my head away.

 _“Look at me.”_ Negan snarled. The harshness of his words made me snap my head back around quick as an owl. He said, “Those fuckers that said that shit to you? They’re probably fucking dead. _They’re_ nothing. You’re not. _You’re_ still alive, and the fact that you’re still alive after the end of the world _despite_ being fucked up in the head makes you a _fucking badass_. Hell, you have more balls than half of my men here.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Negan shushed me and added, “The fact that Rick used you as his _babysitter_ makes me dislike that prick even more. _Rick_ should have had _you_ on the front lines, fighting —  you’re a good shot, and you’re willing to get your hands dirty. It’s a goddamn _shame_ is what it is. And you know what? You’re a fucking _leader_ , too.”

I stiffened. He wasn’t the only one to tell me that — it was the one positive I’d managed to retain and soak in all these years.

 _“People want to listen to you,”_ My professor had once told me. _“Your very presence is commanding, but not intimidating. Very few people have that.”_

_One small problem: I don’t like to lead. I’m not loud enough — I don’t like being loud._

“I,” Negan continued, “Am going to fucking kiss you, okay?”

I let out another sob and nodded, easing into his touch and gesturing towards my face.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. You can touch my face.”

“Don’t fucking cry,” Negan murmured against my lips, his warm palms cupping my cheek. “I hate that shit.”

“Me too,” I murmured.

Yet I cried anyway.

~ ~ ~

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “I’m fine with nudity. I think,” I raised my voice over the sound of the bathtub filling. “Plus I like baths.”

“We have….lavender, cinnamon, peppermint - scented shit,” Negan let out a breath before tugging his white shirt over his head. I stared at his chest, keeping my mouth closed.

“What?”

“I like your…bodice,” I replied slowly.

“Yeah. Me fucking too, sweetheart,” Negan stepped forward, extending his arms. I shimmied over, muscules tensing as he slipped his hands beneath my shirt. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m way less nervous than the, uh, failed attempted at a blowjob.”

_That’s the damn truth._

It was. Nudity in general had stopped bothering me years ago - I had no qualms about it. That being said, did I find my body desirable? Hell, no. I was underweight and built like a boy.

_So you think._

“You’re the first person to see me naked and it not be weird,” I said dully. “And by that I mean, this is _intentional_.”

“Uh-huh,” Negan’s fingers ghosted across my bare breasts and he tugged at my jeans, eager to remove them. I allowed him to, kicking them away and standing before Negan in nothing but my panties.

“Your turn. I’ve seen your dick - no need to be embarrassed,” I said slyly. The steam rising from the filling tub felt wonderful, and I sat on the edge, dipping my fingers into the water and sighing contently.

“Slow the fuck down, girl — Jesus!”

I went in first, tossing my underwear at Negan before slipping into the water. Negan followed, nearly busting his ass cause of how eager he was. I giggled, toying with the bubbles and feeling Negan’s leg brush against mine. The warmth of the water relaxed my muscules, and I could tell that they were doing number on Negan’s injuries. He had an almost dreamy look in his eyes and his torn and ripped muscles became surrounded by warmth.

“Does that feel nice?” I purred. Negan gave a dopey grin, shifting through the water and tugging on my arm. I allowed him to pull me against him. I felt his large hands palm my breasts and I giggled like a _child_ at his touches.

“ _God._ I want you so _fucking_ bad.”

“I know,” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I’m just…not ready yet, I don’t think. But I will be. I will be.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Wake the fuck up, sunshine.”

_He’s such a sweetheart. Look at him kissing all over you like this —_

_I’m still fucking sleeping get the fuck off me —_

I felt Negan’s hot breath against my shoulder as he began trying to coax me awake, feathering light kisses against my skin. I wasn’t having that shit. I was groggy, my face pressed into the pillow of Negan’s bed.

_He’s letting you sleep in his bed, now. With him. Ya’ll ain’t even had sex yet and he’s already moved you in with him._

“You’re worse than me in the fucking morning,” Negan grumbled. I cursed, my words muffled, hearing the bed dip beneath me as Negan slid out from under the covers. I heard his heavy footsteps before his weight suddenly pressed against me and I felt his fingers shoot to my sides as he _tickled_ me awake.

“You fucking asshole,” I shrieked.

_Okay, now you’re fucking horny. Fucking great. You finally wake up next to someone who cares about you and you’re all hot and bothered._

“You always sound so fucking sincere when you curse, sweetheart,” Negan purred. I wanted to touch him - I’d never felt this bold or this sure before in my life, but the feeling of his skin beneath my fingers was intoxicating, almost.

_That bath really must have helped._

“Fuck yeah it did,” I mumbled against Negan’s mouth. He sighed into the kiss, chuckling when my hips shifted, desperate for some sort of contact. Negan took note of this and slipped a hand between my legs.

“Lean the fuck back,” Negan said suddenly. “I want to fucking taste you.”

“Fine by me,” I grunted, my fingers curling into his hair and practically shoving his head down. _This_ I wouldn’t mind — letting him pleasure me. I was, in a way, familiar with it. I’d almost forgotten that I’d gone to bed clad in only a shirt and a pair of panties, and I bucked my hips as the feel of Negan’s lips against the inside of my thigh, moving rapidly towards my core. He teasingly slid my panties to the side and I jolted again, the movement sending pleasure shooting up my spine.

“Sorry,” I gasped. “I’m sorry. I’m just…sensitive.”

“That’s fucking hot, sweetheart,” Negan replied. I glanced down and found him peering up at me, eyebrows raised. “Goddamn, you are beautiful.”

“Can you, uh—”

“Don’t argue. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Can you say it again?” I laughed at my own stupidity. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before.” 

“ _You_ ,” Negan kissed my skin. “ _Are. Fucking. Goddamn. Stunning. Magnificent, beautiful, goddess.”_

I squealed, wiping away a sudden tear.

“Fuckin’ relax,” Negan purred. I giggled, covering my mouth with my hands.

_Oh, I’m relaxed all right._

~ ~ ~

“You’re not fucking going out there alone,” Negan said, staring down at me.

“I’m not. I’ll have Dwight with me,” I replied confidently. “You’re still hurt. You can’t go - Carson said so. And _I_ say so.”

Negan was hurt - he was standing, but he was hurt. I could tell by the way he shifted uncomfortably that standing still made him uncomfortable and stressed his damaged limbs. Yet here he was, trying to look all tough, high and mighty, Lucille resting against his shoulder as he slowly paced in front of Sanctuary’s gates, limping and hissing.

_Fucking moron._

Daryl had killed Fat Joey, and I wasn’t complaining. From what I’d heard, his death had been a major blow - he’d been in charge of redirect. Without him, the massive herd of walkers milling about some ten miles outside of Sanctuary would get closer and closer. Before, as Negan had said, it had been a minor inconvenience. Now, making sure the walkers stayed where they were was a team effort.

_Team effort. You aren’t a Savior, so why do you care?_

Negan was still keeping me in the dark regarding Eugene. For all I knew, he was dead, but I doubted Negan was _that_ stupid.

I was concocting a plan. Hopefully, it would work, and I could get Eugene out of here and maybe save my own ass in the process.

_Maybe. It’s not like Negan loves you or anything - you’re a quick, fun fuck to him. Older men love using younger girls._

Dwight hefted his crossbow - no, _Daryl’s_ crossbow - over his shoulder and sneered, “after what happened last time we let you off your leash?”  
“I’ve apologized for that,” I replied sweetly. Negan huffed, limping closer to me and squeezing my arm. I added, “This is the second time I’m going to bust my ass for you guys.”

“Nobody’s asking you to bust your fucking ass. This was your idea,” Negan replied.

“Yeah, cause I want to prove my loyalty. You know, so I can join your super secret boy-band. I’d rather do this than be locked up like _Daryl_ was.”

Negan sucked in a breath, glancing away. He finally sighed and said, “What fucking ever. Come back in one fucking piece, understand?”

I beamed and gave him a quick hug, making sure not to jostle his broken ribs. Dwight watched us with a look of disgust on his marred features, before turning and patting his motorcycle.

_You’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before._

_Well, there’s a first for everything. But why couldn’t it be Arat, or Negan, or hell, Simon?_

The task was simple, really - the Saviors had a cabin stashed full of fireworks, a key ingredient in keeping the walkers from venturing too close to Sanctuary. I had no idea why it was there, and I didn’t really care. Negan wanted it back, and I wasn’t in any position to ask questions. I’d really just wanted to get out, get some fresh air. I could handle a little manual labor.

Time would tell if I’d be able to handle Dwight. I’d come to realize that the two of us were exactly alike in our awkwardness, stubborn personality, and the fact that we were both, by definition, losers.

_He’s like…he doesn’t have to say anything. His very presence annoys you, but not in a hostile way. More like you want to yell at him to shut up even when he’s not talking._

I had to hold onto Dwight during the ride to the cabin. The physical contact was something I had trouble getting over - with Negan, I was comfortable. With Arat, I was comfortable. I knew both of them, and I trusted them. The same couldn’t be said for Dwight or any other of the Saviors.

As soon as Dwight pulled the motorcycle to a stop in front of the old, rickety cabin, he began barking orders, not making eye contact.

“Okay, okay,” I listened and nodded, waiting for him to finish speaking.

“Are you going to go do it?” 

“This is a team effort, dude.”

Dwight scowled, annoyance evident on his scarred face. The burn looked like it hurt, and almost instinctively, I softened up a bit. He was like me - bitter. Mad at God, mad at the world. And he was taking it out on the closest target - me.

“C’mon,” I grumbled, walking up the steps and into the cabin. I opened the door, warm air hitting me. The place was empty, save for a couch and a coffee table, and it looked _old_ as _shit_. It reeked of mildew, but luckily, there were no walkers in sight.

Dwight shut the door behind him, glancing around. We stood in silence for a few moments before my eyes fell across what we’d come for - a box filled with fireworks, matches, everything. I tossed my backpack onto the couch, gesturing for Dwight to come and assist me.

“Is that all of it?” Dwight asked, huffing as he began discarding the fireworks into his own backpack. He was working hastily - like he wanted to leave. I said nothing because I, too, felt like getting the fuck out. The cabin was creepy, and I wanted to be back before the sun set. I’d planned on hopefully having dinner with Negan and then, finally, possibly, allowing us to have sex. I felt rather good about it, for once - my stomach didn’t do flips when I thought about sleeping with him.

“You’re staring off into space,” Dwight grunted.

“Sorry,” I ducked my head. “I was daydreaming.”

“Yeah. I understand that. I daydream about Sherry a lot,” Dwight stopped, meeting my gaze. “Is he treating her well? Tell me the truth.”

“He does. And if it makes you feel any better I don’t think he’s slept with her in a long time.”

“Because of you,” Dwight grumbled. “He’s seducing you - trying too. If he asks you to marry him, say no.”

“He has asked, and I have said no.”

“Then why do you keep going to him?”

I shrugged. It was an honest question, and my mind couldn’t find an answer. Maybe it was because, after all these years, he was the first and seemingly only guy to give me attention? The only guy who seemed to genuinely enjoy my lame personality and stupid jokes?

I was a shallow bitch. I’d let him use me - I wanted the attention. I liked the attention.

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because you’re not leaving this cabin alive, and I want answers.”


	10. Chapter 10

_He’s gonna kill you what the fuck!_

I kept my mouth shut and my face neutral, but inside, I was screaming. I half expected Dwight to smile and wave his hand and say that it was all a joke. I needed that to happen.

Instead, Dwight lunged. I shrieked as he tackled me, muscules straining - I spat and clawed and bit at his skin, thrashing and trying to get a better hold on him. I’d been caught by surprise, and this certainly wasn’t a fair fight - Dwight was larger than me, taller, and, as I quickly realized, he had a weapon.

A knife.

“Stay still,” Dwight cursed. “Stay still—”

“Fuck no!”

So, Dwight stabbed me. And _goddamn_ did it suck - he drove the blade between my ribs and _twisted_. I’ve always had a high tolerance for pain, so the sudden burst of agony didn’t stop me from fighting.

_I’ll bust Dwight’s ass I’ll kill him!_

A hard punch to the face caused my nose to bleed and my vision to go haywire - down was up and up was down, and my confusion gave Dwight enough time to fully subdue me.

My wound was leaking blood - I felt the liquid as it dripped onto the floor, causing my shirt to stick to my skin. For some reason, I wasn’t worried. Maybe it was the shock and the anger. I didn’t know.

“Ouch,” I said dully, staring up at Dwight. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry,” Dwight huffed, still clutching his bloody knife. “I have to do this. I have too,” still keeping a knee on my chest he reached for his bag, rummaging through and pulling out a some rope and some duct tape.

“This is such a dick move,” I gasped. “Nice going, edgelord.”

“I’ll patch you up. You’re not leaving this cabin, though. I’m going to tell Negan that some roamers got you,” Dwight hissed. My wound had become a dull ache, and I was vaguely aware at how increasingly difficult it was becoming to breathe. I winced as Dwight shifted and cupped my wound with his hand, coating his palm with blood.

He rubbed it all over himself like he was finger painting, speaking as he did so. “Negan trusts me. And he’ll get over you.”

“I thought you were going to kill me?” 

“I might. We’ll see,” Dwight replied casually. I watched as blood - my blood - trickled down his neck and onto his shirt. I should have felt sick, but I didn’t. I was pissed. Of all the fucked up shit —

_Fucking fuck._

I grunted as Dwight began to somewhat stitch me up - he managed to stop the bleeding by duct taping a towel against my torso, a crude sort of bandage. Immediately after he tied my hands and feet together and proceeded to drag me towards the closet.  Only then did I begin to lose consciousness, the last bit of adrenaline draining from my body.

“You won’t be here long,” Dwight said. “You’ll thank me, later.”

“The fuck I won’t,” I managed to say. “Why are you doing me like this?”

“You’ll see.”

“Fuck you, Dwight.”

Dwight shook his head and closed the door, engulfing the closet in darkness. I heard him slide a chair against the door before his footsteps faded away. The last thing I heard was the thrum of his motorcycle. and then he was gone.

_Did that go the way you thought it would?_

_Nope._

~ ~ ~

“I expected her to bleed to death.” 

“She’s strong willed. The knife missed any major arteries, however, she will get an infection if not given proper care—”

“She’ll get proper care, back at the Kingdom. That’s where we’re going.”

I eased my eyes open. There was an old coat draped across me, and the closet door was open. I found myself staring into the worried eyes of Eugene - he was on his knees, fingers laced together. Dwight stood behind him with a gun in his hand and a scowl gracing his scarred face.

“What is this?” I grumbled. Moving sent waves of pain through me, so I decided to stay leaning against the wall. Everything was coming into focus, now, and I slowly began to recall where I was and how I’d gotten here.

_Fucking Dwight! He tried to kill you!_

“Are you, like, some sort of secret agent?” I mumbled, raising my eyebrows at Dwight. “Or are you just really fucking stupid.”

“Both,” Dwight answered. “Now get up.”

“ _Bruh_. I cannot.”

“Eugene will help you. Get up, now.”

Eugene looked petrified. He had a fresh bruise on his face and he looked skinnier. Despite that, he still took it upon himself to try and hoist me up, holding me like a child and easing me out of the closet.

“Get her in the back of the van,” Dwight instructed. Eugene obeyed, and I was carried like a rag doll from the cabin. The van was there, waiting, its back doors open.

_No! No! Eugene was supposed to leave, not you!_

_You need to go back to him!_

_He think’s you’re dead._

I sucked in a breath, wincing at the sudden sting in my ribcage. Eugene crawled into the van next to me, not speaking, just looking _petrified_. I managed to squeeze his hand and give him a reassuring smile before Dwight slammed the doors and started up the vehicle.

“Eugene,” I murmured. “How bad is it?” 

“The damage is minimal. The worst you have to worry about is an infection. The blade did not puncture any vital organs. You’re lucky.”

The pain remained a dull, numbing ache. Whenever Dwight hit a bump in the road, the wound would sting. I knew it would hurt later, after the initial shock wore off - I’d read about stab wounds. My next round of unconsciousness would _suck_.

We arrived at the Kingdom during the night. I’d lost track of time - I had no idea what day it was, or even where I was, really. I’d never been to the Kingdom - this was the second time I’d heard of it. I had no idea who these people were, but Dwight did, and for some reason that gave me no comfort.

“We’re here, assholes,” Dwight called. Lights swept through the windows and Eugene shifted, wrapping a protective arm around me. I heard shouts, some familiar, some not.

_Rick?_

_Daryl?_

_Michonne? Sasha? Aaron?_

“What’s going on?” I grumbled.

Eugene’s grip on me tightened, and he replied, “Holy hell.”

The drivers side door opened and a powerful hand dragged Dwight from the vehicle, but he didn’t resist. He simply raised his hands and said nothing, letting these unknown people, people who now had authority over us, simply open van’s back door for themselves.

Cool air and blinding light hit me, and I groaned. The people surrounding us had spears and wore armor, and for a moment it felt as if I’d entered some kind of cult. But then, through the crowd, I was able to spot familiar faces. Rick, Michonne. Sasha, Aaron, Daryl…Rosita. _Morgan._

“ _They’re_ my peace offering,” I heard Dwight call. “I came here to talk to you about war.”

Rick was the first to move - he brushed past another unfamiliar man with dreads who looked sort of pissed. Eugene slid from the van first, quickly explaining to Rick that I was, understandably, a little fucked up.

Rick didn’t say anything at first. He looked…emotional. I didn’t know what to make of it it - Eugene was fine, walking and talking, but Rick was focusing on me, looking as if he were trying not to cry. Looking…relieved and happy. Michonne, too. And Sasha and Aaron, Rosita…Daryl.

“Are you alright, Rachel?” Rick said softly. He placed a comforting hand on my arm.

“Peachy,” I replied. “I can’t even feel anything.”

“She needs a medic!” Rick called. “She’s hurt!”

“I’ve got her,” Aaron stepped forward to assist, Daryl following his lead. Two pairs of arms hoisted me up and for the briefest moment I fell as if I were flying.

And then I blacked out. Again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for some sensitive content towards the end (attempted rape, which I’ve unfortunately experienced) so be warned. We’re almost towards the end of this, guys ;)

“I need to get to Hilltop,” I stressed. Rick was pacing, fingers scratching at his beard. His eyes were red-rimmed from a lack of sleep and he seemed paler than normal. He was stressed and depressed, and my stammering probably wasn’t helping.

I didn’t care.

“Ezekiel won’t let you leave like this.” 

“I can barely feel it,” I said. “Please. The Saviors are there - I know it. Enid and Carl are in danger.”

Rick stopped. He raised his head, his gaze lingering on me for far too long. He looked troubled and confused and lost, like he didn’t know whether or not to believe me.

“Would I lie to you?” I said coldly. “Negan treated me well, alright. I wasn’t tortured or forced to do anything. There was this guy, though…David. The guy who wouldn’t let Enid have her balloons. He threatened her, and he threatened Carl and said that he would go to Hilltop to find them. If he’s there—”

“What are you going to do if he is?”

“If he touches Enid I’m going to kill him,” I spat. I sighed, sitting on the edge of my cot, wincing when my bare feet brushed the floor. I gestured for Rick to hand me my socks, but he refused - he kept his body at an angle, blocking the door.

_Move the fuck over you stubborn dick! You’re worse than Negan!_

“You’re being _paranoid,_ ” Rick said calmly. “And you need to stay here. We’ve lost you once before, and it’s _not_ happening again,” he knelt in front of me, grasping my hand and squeezing.

“Why do you even care?” I mumbled tiredly.

Rick tilted his head to the side, cringing at my words. I didn’t mean to be rude - I couldn’t help it. The fact that they all cared - Daryl, Michonne, Sasha…everyone. It angered me. They hadn’t cared before and it certainly didn’t make sense that they’d  care now.

“You’re _family_ ,” Rick said softly. “You’re just as important as Rosita. As Sasha and Aaron and Daryl and Tara…”

“Then you need to trust me like you trust everyone else,” I said firmly. “Jesus is here, right? I’ll go with him. I can walk, now. And it’s not like Hilltop doesn’t have a doctor. I’m an _adult_ , Rick. Hard to believe, I know.”

Rick rubbed his eyes, sighing. He squeezed my hand once more before nodding.

“I trust you.”

“Thank you,” I said. Rick pulled me into a hug, helping me stand. My side ached, and my breathing was labored. I’d been through worse - or, I’d felt worse. This was like my soccer injury all over again, I tried to tell myself. Just put one foot in front of the other and _walk._

_You have a friend to save._

~ ~ ~

The ride to Hilltop was bumpy and somewhat awkward. I’d only spoken to Jesus once, so I was wary and silent and tired. Same as I’d been with Negan. But this was different, and I vaguely wondered if, unlike with Negan, I’d return home alive.

_I mean, if David is there, you’ve gotta fuck him up. You’re a real one, remember?_

I was running on paranoia logic. Rick was right - I’d always been somewhat paranoid, and I never forgot a threat, whether it was directed at me or at a friend.

_You don’t play with that shit._

_Hell no._

“There’s a gun in the glove compartment. Get it,” Jesus said suddenly. I immediately obeyed, gripping the small handgun and tucking it into my pants like I’d seen Negan do so many times before. We were approaching out destination _, fast._

I hopped from the truck before Jesus even pulled it to a complete stop within the walls of Hilltop. The Saviors were already here - I recognized several, and I kept my head ducked down. I didn’t see Maggie anywhere, and I didn’t ask - the Saviors had no idea that Maggie was even alive, and I intended to keep it that way. Unless they’d already found her, in which case….

_Fuck._

“Go find Enid and Carl,” Jesus murmured, ducking into the shadows. I let out long breath, steeling myself and strolling towards the cluster of trailers nestled towards the back of the settlement. I saw a few Saviors emerge, carrying boxes of supplies, followed by Gregory, who seemed to be stammering and pleading. He met my eye and I stopped him, staring into the troubled eyes of the older man.

“Have you seen Enid?”

“Who are you?” Gregory narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know you. Goodbye.”

I grabbed his arm, digging my nails into his skin with enough force that he hissed in pain.

“Where’s Enid and Carl?”

Gregory jerked his arm away, cursing. He rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb towards one of the trailers. “In there. I think. I don’t know - I don’t keep up with those kids. Are you a Savior?”

I ignored him. my boots crunching against the dirt as I briskly walked towards said trailer, trying my best to keep my nerves in check. A few Saviors were hanging out near the door, laughing and relaxing.

_Shit._

Of course, they stopped me. I prayed that they wouldn’t recognize me - Negan hadn’t allowed me to wander Sanctuary, so I either spent my time with him or with Arat. Carson was the only other person I’d really gotten a chance to talk with, and I desperately hoped that my face wasn’t familiar enough to get stuck in someone’s head.

“Hold up, dollface. You live here?”

The towering Savior peered down at me, grinning smoothly. I rolled my eyes, pushing past him, and starting up the steps.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” I called back. A strong hand gripped the back of my shirt and tugged, and I cried out, stumbling down the steps and landing on my rear in the dirt.

_The fuck?_

_They don’t want you to go in there. Something’s wrong - something’s going on._

“I’m just looking for my friends. A dark-haired girl and a boy with one eye. Do you know where they are?”

“They’re _busy_ , little lady,” the Savior crowed. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly. “Hey. You look familiar.”

“No, I don’t,” I snapped, struggling to my feet as my wound flared up. I bit my tongue to keep from cursing and giving away the fact that I was in _pain_ \- my ribs were throbbing. “I’m just going inside.”

“No, you’re not.”

Something hard hit the trailer wall, a massive thud coming from the inside, followed by a feminine shriek.

_Enid._

“I’m going in,” I said, lunging forward. Another strong hand gripped my hair, tugging at the short, black corkscrews and _hell no_. _Hell_ to the _fucking_ no.

I flung my arm wildly, making sure to hold the gun tightly, my finger on the trigger. The first shot caught the Savior holding me in the throat and he stumbled back. I heard screams of confusion and terror, and the momentary shock allowed me to bound up the stairs and shoulder open the door to the trailer.

This was when time sort of…slowed.

I’d only had this happen once before in my life, when I was younger. That split second you have to make a decision seems longer than it really is, as your brain takes in information in little snapshots, like a polaroid camera.

Carl was on the ground, unconscious. In the center of the room David - that bald headed fuck - knelt over a struggling, bloody Enid, his fucking cock out and a _shit-eating_ grin on his face as he held Enid by her hair.

In half a second, David realized that he’d fucked in. In two seconds he’d backed up, dick hanging limp, hands raised above his head, pleading. Praying. Begging. Like he hadn’t done something wrong, like he wasn’t about to do something unforgivable.

Enid _screamed._

I took that as a signal and promptly blew a quarter-sized hole through David’s head.


	12. Chapter 12

“What the _hell!_ ” Simon bellowed.

I immediately fell across Enid, shielding her as Simon and half a dozen Saviors flood into the trailer, guns raised. Carl was stirring, his one eye blinking open. David’s blood was on my shirt and on my face, and the gun in my hand was warm. I tossed it to the side, still shielding as I made it clear to Simon that I was, now, weaponless.

“He was _raping_ her,” I snarled. “And I shot him. The other dude that’s dead out there - he tried to stop me. So I killed him.”

“You’re supposed to be _dead_!” Simon snarled. “Dwight came back covered in your blood.”

“Dwight’s a lying _penis_. I’m alive,” I bit back, smiling. “He also stabbed me. And it hurt. A lot. Next time I see him, I’m shooting him in the foot.”

“Next time?” Simon scoffed and lowered his gun, stomping over and gripping my shoulder. Enid protested, crying out as Carl crawled his way over to her. I was lifted like a rag doll by Simon, who guided me from the trailer clutching a fistful of my shirt.

“You just killed two of my men.”

“I don’t feel _guilty_ murdering _trash_ ,” I spat. “I’ll do it five times over if I have to.”

“I’m so scared,” Simon said sarcastically. “I’m really considering killing you right now. Spare Negan the stress and just… _bang_! He already thinks that you’re dead, anyway.”

“Do it,” I mumbled. “Fuckin’ shoot me if you want too.”

Simon dropped me. I staggered back, staring up at him, Out of the corner of my eye I saw Enid and Carl emerge from the trailer, holding each other in a vice grip.

“I’m taking you back,” Simon said. He reached for me again but I batted his hand away.

“No, you’re not. What you’re going to do is go home. Tell Negan that I’m alive, and tell him to _stop this. No more._ No _war_ , no _death_. _None_. We’ll work this out like _civilized_ people.”

“Like _hell_ he’ll listen to you,” Simon glanced around. His Saviors - a dozen of them - were surrounding us like vultures, watching, guns at the ready.

“Then I’m not going back. You fuckers want to act like children? Fine. Act like children.”

“You’re the only one here whose acting like a child,” Simon snapped. He went for my hair, gripping it by the roots and dragging me. The pain was shocking, and I screamed. And I don’t normally scream.

A barrage of gunfire sounded from the large, ornate house across from us and in an instant everyone, Simon included, collapsed dead. And I was on the ground in the fetal position, crying out, yelling, covering my head with my hands.

_What the fuck?_

I let out a wheezing cry of terror. I saw people - Jesus, Gregory, Maggie, Harlan, Enid, Carl…all running across the grass towards the mass of bodies. Towards _me_.

“Are you hit? We didn’t hit you, did we?” Maggie cried, practically falling on top of me - she’s such a _mom_ \- hands checking my body for wounds. When I managed to nod she stopped, keeping her warm hands on my shoulders.

“I’m okay,” I whimpered. “I’m fine.”

“ _Good_ ,” Enid said, nodding. “We have guns, now. We can _fight_.”

“Your grave,” I gasped, peering into Maggie’s eyes. “Gabriel buried them. Have ya’ll been…ya’ll are fighting him?”

“ _We’re_ fighting him,” Maggie said firmly. “All of us. And we’re going to _need_ you.”

_Nobody needs me._

I wiped blood from my eyes, realized that I was covered in it. Simon lay dead next to me, blood leaking from his eyes and his nose and ears, the bullet having shattered his brain. I let out a cry, resisting the urge to vomit as the smell of death hit me.

_Okay, yeah. You’ve never seen this before. You’ve seen bad shit, but never this._

“Okay,” I murmured. “Okay. I’m with you. I’m with you. We’ll fight.”

~ ~ ~

“So…on a scale of one to ten, how badly did this all go for you?” I leaned against the wall, peering through the bars of the cell. Negan looked shitty, his face pale, barely able to move due to the bandage on his neck.

_Rick fucked the homeboy up Goddamn. Savage._

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“And you _look_ like an asshole. Dwight’s asshole, to be more specific,” I narrowed my eyes. “I mean, I told Simon that you had choices. We could have negotiated and shit.”

“I don’t fucking negotiate. Fuck off, Rachel.”

I winced. He sounded serious - _was_ too serious for me. I sighed, rolling my shoulders and pressing my forehead against the bars of the cell. Negan didn’t move, his shoulders hunched and his expression blank.

“Did you ever really give a shit about me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I need you to elaborate,” I replied. “Like, why?”

Negan rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up. He had a cot and a stool in there, and a bucket to shit in. All you needed in life, really. He said, “Am I a liar? _Fuck_ _no_. I told you how I felt that one night, when you wouldn’t shut the fuck up about being ugly or whatever bullshit it was.”

“You’re sort of manipulative, you know.”

“What reason would I have to lie?”

“Make me feel safe and secure. Use me. Make me marry you, I don’t know,” I squeezed the bars. “Do you not _see_ how manipulative you can be?”

“I mean, I _can_ ,” Negan whistled a tune before adding. “Your little crush on me was cute. I thought it was fucking _adorable_. Still do.”

_Hah! It’s not like that crush has gone away._

The term “crush” was for children. Maybe that was it - maybe I was a fucking _child_ to him.

“Eighteen isn’t old,” I said sadly. “Maybe you’re right. I’m immature. It was cute because I have the mental capacity of a eight year old.”

“Give yourself some fucking credit,” Negan barked. “Stop shitting on yourself. It’s fucking ridiculous. You’re hot. You’re smart. You know how to shoot a gun, and you make me fucking laugh. So _stop_.”

I tilted my head to the side, grinning through the bars. “ _Make me_.”

“Go get the keys and come in here,” Negan leaned back, not moving. My eyes traveled across the unfinished room to where the keys were hanging from a hook nailed into the wall. I licked my lips, a strange but familiar feeling coiling within me. _Lust._

“You think I’ll fucking escape?” Negan barked a laugh. “Yeah. I wouldn’t make it five fucking feet. I need _Rick_ the _Prick_ to trust me, Rachel.”

He said my name as if he were speaking to an old friend. But we weren’t friends - not really. At least I didn’t think so. I didn’t have friends.

_So what if he fucking escapes? He won’t kill you. You know that._

_Yeah, right._

I shuddered, but obeyed. My hands were shaking as I unlocked the door to the cell and stepped inside, closing it behind me.

“You still don’t fucking trust me?” Negan chuckled. “Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever hurt you?”

“There’s a first for everything,” I sighed, clenching my shirt. I heard Negan stand, his breathing heavy as his warm hands grasped my face. He seemed surprised that I didn’t pull away. His closeness wasn’t at all intimidating and a small part of me wondered if this was the end. He could snap my neck to life me up and beat my head against the floor until I died.

_What good would that do him?_

“You got what you deserved,” I said confidently. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Negan.”

“Neither do I,” he replied, chuckling against my mouth and practically inhaling me, as if he’d never kissed anyone before. It felt nice. It felt like he gave shit and wasn’t half-assing it because he felt bad for me. The silence was nice - all of Alexandria was asleep, and it was dark. Nighttime. My favorite time of day.

 _“Goddess_ ,” Negan breathed. “You don’t believe it, but I fucking do. Are you comfortable with this?”

“That’s what I fucking came here for,” I mumbled against his lips. “Hah. Get it - came?”

“Loser,” Negan sunk to the floor, taking me with him.

“You laughed. It was funny - admit it,” I snorted and began to shed my clothes. Like before, nudity wasn’t anything I was embarrassed about. The only light provided for us came from moonlight and a pathetic lantern by the doorway. Negan couldn’t really see all of me, right?

“Stop fucking thinking about the way you look,” Negan hissed, biting my shoulder. I yelped, giggling when he ran his tongue across the little mark he’d left. “I’m going to fuck you, and it’s going to feel _good_.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank ya'll so much for reading about my lame ass. It makes me so happy that ppl enjoy my writing and i love you all so much! Happy Holidays!

My first time was, technically, supposed to be in a bed. But I’d pussied out of that opportunity and instead I was losing my virginity against a ratty rug on the concrete floor os some dudes cell. A cell that Morgan, apparently, had built. He was probably staring down at me, shaking his head.

_You ratchet-ass hoe!_

“Does it hurt during your first time?” I whimpered against Negan’s throat, wrapping my legs around his naked torso. He kissed my mouth once, twice, three times before glancing down to position himself properly. “You’re fucking _big._ ”

“Thanks,” Negan grunted. “It’ll hurt. Then it won’t - if you want to stop tell me.”

“If you let me call the shots it’ll never get done.”

“That’s not always a bad fucking thing, sweetheart,” Negan replied. I grinned, rolling my eyes and patting his cheek. “Okay - this might fucking - _fuck_ ,” Negan grunted, shifting his hips and easing very, very _gently i_ nside me.

“It’s like pulling tape off your skin you’ve gotta do it _f-fast_ ,” I squeezed my eyes shit, trying to adjust. Okay, yeah it stung. I’d never shoved anything up there before, so the intrusion was making my body have a sudden and temporary freak-out. I bit my lip and squeezed Negan’s back. “Ow…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no,” I gasped. “No. Keep go - _ah_.”

“You’re so goddamn _tight_ ,” Negan hissed. “F-fuck.”

I tried to relax - like that would help. I let the muscles in my stomach go slack as I began to adjust, which allowed Negan to _move_. I was practically glued to him, my arms wrapped around his neck, my ankles brushing against each other and holding me in place like a fucking _sloth_ groping a tree. He finally began rolling his hips in a tortuously slow motion, allowing me to go at my own pace.  He felt so good and warm and safe. _I_ felt safe. Safe and enjoyed and I kissed him for that, feeling waves of pleasure roll across me like a tidal wave.

I started fucking crying. Not bawling but, like, I let a few tears slip by. I quickly reassured Negan that they were tears of joy and he kissed them away, pecking my lips and calling me _“his goddess.”_

_You can’t fake that shit, hon._

“I bled a bit. Sorry,” I said bluntly, using his chest as a pillow. I was still glued to him, draped across him as if he were the worlds most cuddly mattress. He probably wasn’t - he didn’t seem like a cuddler.

“Uh-huh,” Negan breathed, rubbing circles against my back. He seemed in a daze - even more so than me. “That shit happens, sometimes.”

“I liked that,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

“I fucking liked that too,” Negan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, chuckling. “Goddamn. And to think…you were talking all that shit earlier.”

“I still don’t know what you see in me,” I murmured.

“Do you need a fucking list? How about this - screw Rick Grimes. You and I are going tonight. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

I sat up a bit, staring into his eyes. He wasn’t joking - he had a dead serious look on his face. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I’d keep you safe,” Negan kissed my shoulder. “I’d fucking protect you. And I fucking mean that. I’m not fucking going without you.” 

“I can’t. Not until…not until Judith is older. Not for a while,” I whispered. “After all that happened, after what you did to Glenn and Abraham and Daryl…”

“I can’t take that shit back.”

“I’m not asking you too. What I am asking you to do is serve some time, then we’ll talk about it,” I brushed a strand of hair from his eyes before dipping down to give him a final kiss. I didn’t want to pull away, and neither did he.

_You two aren’t fucking love struck._

_We know._

I dressed myself, stretching a bit before realizing that the soreness in my nether region wouldn’t disappear anytime soon. I felt Negan’s hand on my shoulder, his rough hands massaging my muscles. I sighed, not wanting to pull myself away from his touches.

“I’m going to leave your cell unlocked,” I finally said. “You do what you want. Leave, stay, it doesn’t matter. I can’t some with you, Negan. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Negan replied quietly.

_I sure hope so._

~ ~ ~

I brought Negan breakfast the next day. I expected him to be gone, so I put on my best poker face and prepared to run to Rick. If he was smart, he would have left. Part of me knew that he’d most likely make a useless grab to try and get Lucille back, and another part of me wanted to give him more credit. He was a leader, after all. A fighter. A strategist - he knew when and where to strike.

I steeled myself and entered the unfinished house, padding over to Negan’s cell carrying a small tray with fruit, some juice and a boiled egg. I didn’t look up until I stood a few feet away, and when I lifted my head, I prepared myself for what I would see —

_Nope._

Negan was in his cell, sitting on his cot, legs crossed. And he had a shit-eating grin on his handsome face, as if he’d been awaiting my arrival.

“You’re still here?” I stammered. I resisted the urge to smile as my heart leaped into my chest when I realized what exactly he was sacrificing by staying behind.

He was doing this for _me_.

Nobody ever did shit for _me_.

“I fucking told you, I’m not leaving without you,” Negan said simply, crossing his arms. “Have I ever fucking lied to you?”

“It’s going to be a while.”

Negan laughed.

“I’ll wait.”

**End**


End file.
